Puddle Jumping
by CalamityJim
Summary: Gabriel's solution to the apocalypse was unorthodox. Now Sam and Dean are struggling to survive in a reality they don't understand against forces that take a little more than salt to kill. First Story in the Rebirth Verse the Atlantis Arc.
1. The General Idea

Disclaimer-Stargate and Stargate Atlantis belong to MGM and Fox. Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke and the CW.

Warnings: Violence, Language and Possible Pairings.

AN-Installment 1 in my Rebirth verse, which is basically my brainchild for the most ultimate crossover strategy ever. XD. Timelines have been adjusted for my convenience. Events have been adjusted for my convenience. It will be update at my convenience, but as with most authors reviews tend to inspire.

* * *

**Puddle Jumping**

Chapter 1

The General Idea

* * *

"Hey Sammy, open the door," Dean called as he precariously juggled the food. Stopping the end of the world was hungry work and while Gigantor may have hard the arm length to hold everything with ease, Dean was a few inches behind his brother in the height department. With a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onion for Dean, some rabbit concoction for Sam, and a fresh baked apple for the two to share he was having some trouble keeping things safe from gravity. "Come on, Sammy. A little help?"

Grumbling when Sam failed to come to his rescue Dean shifted his burden to dig out the motel key. As he opened the door the bag with the pie slipped, saved from tragedy only by Dean's awesome reflexes.

"Impressive catch." The compliment was accompanied by soft applause.

The pie was in the air again, raining to the ground with the rest of the night's meal as Dean drew his gun, fully aware of the futility of his actions. "Gabriel."

The angel-turned-trickster tilted his head as he smirked and there was nothing friendly about it. "Awe kiddo. It sounds like you're not happy to see me and after all the effort I went to track you chuckleheads down."

Dean's usual sarcastic retort was swallowed back, caution winning out as he took in his surroundings.

Gabriel was standing in the centre of what had been their usual dive motel room dressed in blue jeans and a white billowy shirt that needed at least two more buttons before it would be appropriate to wear in public. Apparently the room was not classy enough for what the archangel had in mind and it had been transformed into a swanky love nest. A painfully familiar swanky love nest. Dean's eyes recognized the retro patterned divan and the divider behind it. To his right was the same old minibar, complete with the three empty martini glasses. The soft glow of red lava lamps was interrupted yet again by the flash of a disco ball.

The only real difference that Dean could see, besides not being set in a lecture hall, was that the soft lacy curtains surrounding where the bed had been last time were drawn closed, replaced with a heavier material that completely obscured what was hidden by them, though Dean could guess.

Dean faked a lighthearted smile, knowing exactly how much shit he was in. The last time he had seen Gabriel the bastard had trapped him in tv land, and Dean had returned the favor with a circle of holy oil. He was so boned.

But Dean Winchester wasn't one to surrender without a fight. "What's with you and Barry White?"

Gabriel's smirk sharpened as he raised a hand. Dean's eyes went wide, recognizing the gesture. Finger's snapped, the noise echoing through the room like a gun shot and drowning out the sound of the door slamming behind Dean. The hunter never stood a chance as an invisible force grabbed him and slammed him into the nearest wall, his gun clattering to the ground. Dean, on the other hand, stayed up, held as though in a glue trap.

Behind Gabriel the curtains pulled apart, separating in the middle to reveal the bed Dean had known would be there. Unlike the one Gabriel had offered up last time, this one was not red, nor did it have two very foxy, very scantily clad ladies upon it. This time the blanket was a funeral black causing the red backboard to clash like blood. White rose petals were scattered across the surface, densely spread as they came closer to the center of the mattress.

Upon it all lay Sammy. He was in nothing but his faded jeans, resting upon flower petals and satin like carefully placed doll, his bare heels lining up with the very edge of the mattress. His arms lay at his sides, his palms slightly upturned and filled with crimson petals. His head had been propped up on scarlet pillows and his dark hair had been brushed to fan out, for once not hiding his eyes. Not that it mattered. They were closed in what Dean hoped was sleep. It looked like sleep. His chest was moving and there were no strange bruises indicating he had been beaten into his current state.

Dean watched the rhythmic rising of Sam's chest before turning his gaze to Gabriel. Ice filled his gut as he met the archangel's eyes. While Castiel exasperated Dean and Zachariah pissed him off, Gabriel terrified Dean. It wasn't the power the angel wielded, but the way in which he wielded it. Gabriel didn't kill people. He destroyed them. Sam had been messed up for weeks after running into Gabriel in Broward County and Dean doubted that the poor kid in Springfield could even go outside with clenching his ass cheeks together. While other angels had the power to steal lungs or explode people with a look, Gabriel could shatter lives and break spirits with the snap of his fingers and unlike his brethren he found abundant delight in exorcising those skills.

"What do you want?" Dean asked softly.

Gabriel arched an eyebrow. "That's it? Come on, champ. You can do better than that. Where's the hopeful speech on humanity, or do you only hand those out when everyone else is trapped in the room with you?"

Dean raised his head defiantly. "What the fuck do you want?"

Gabriel smiled, clapping his hand together. "There we go. You had me a bit worried for a moment. It wouldn't do for you to lose your fire now." Gabriel reached into his pocket, pulling out a toffee. He carelessly tore the wrapper off, letting it flit to the floor "As for me? Well, I'm here to pull out Sam's soul." He shoved the candy in his mouth.

Dean's jade eyes went wide. "No!" He screamed, futilely struggling against whatever held him. "No! You son of a bitch!" Dean pulled hard, feeling the beads of sweat form on his face. "Touch him and I'll tear your lungs out! Sam! Sammy, wake up! SAM!"

Gabriel shook his head as he watched Dean writhe. "You chuckleheads are so alike. You didn't learn after going to Hell. Sam didn't learn after you died. Do I need to tattoo this into your skulls or something? You guys can't be this dependant upon each other."

"Fuck." Dean sagged, trying to catch his breath. His muscles trembled, but it wasn't entirely with exertion. Dean could still remember what had happened to his family the last time he had been pinned to wall. He ruthlessly pushed the memory aside, focusing on the now. This time there had to be something he could do, some way to make this stop. "You can't do this! Both Michael and Lucifer want Sam alive. They won't leave him dead."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, smacking the candy in his mouth. "Dude, I'm the Trickster. You really think I'm gonna yank on Sammy's soul to send it to Heaven just to have someone mail it back? No." He shook his head, his face schooling into a serious expression. "Sam's soul isn't going to Heaven." Dean felt the blood from his face, his vision swimming dangerously. He sagged, the claws that had been trapping him now providing the only support.

"You can't," he pleaded breathlessly.

Gabriel gave Dean a pitying look before stepping back, moving himself closer to Sam. "I'm not sending the kid to Hell, either. He may be a doofus but he doesn't deserve that." The angel sat on the bed, leaning over Dean's baby brother and running his fingers through Sam's dark hair. "No, there'll be no Heaven or Hell for Sammy."

"NO!" Dean screamed, once again writhing against the wall. "Don't! Please! Don't touch him! SAMMY!"

Gabriel spared him one more pitying glance before turning his focus back to Sam. "This is going to hurt," he murmured sympathetically.

Then he plunged his arm into Sam's chest.

Sam's screams mingled with Dean's and the smooth melodies of Barry White as the angel's arm tore through the youngest Winchester's chest. A fiery glow began to spread from the point of contact, radiating outward. Sam's veins bulged under the trauma, turning a deep red as the light poured through them, instantly boiling the blood. Dean watched in horror as the glow began to seep out from Sam's mouth and then trickle out from under closed eyelids as smoke began to rise from his body. The smell of burning meat filled the room. Gabriel reached a bit deeper, sweat dripping off his nose as he plunged his arm in that much further. Sam's scream reached a crescendo as his back arched.

Light flared.

There was silence.

Gabriel sat on the bed, studying Sam. The young hunter's tanned skin was already taking on the grey shade of death, his numerous scars puckering grotesquely. It still looked better than where Gabriel had reached into the man. The was skin was cracked and blacken, curling out where it hadn't flaked off and slowly oozing clear liquids, the juices of boiled meat. But that had nothing on Sam's face.

Sam's lips had melt off and the edges of his cheeks had been burned through, the skin matching that of his torso. His teeth were visible through he gaping holes and Gabriel could see that had cracked, some had exploded, from the presence of his Grace. The cartilage in Sam's nose had melted and the remaining goop was seeping down into the crisped sockets where soft hazel eyes used to rest.

Gabriel glanced up, pleased to see that Dean was still blinded by the flash of Grace. He didn't need to see his brother in such a state.

Gabriel reached into thin air, pulling out a white silk blanket to serve as a shroud. He winced as the crisp material immediately began to absorb some of the less savory liquids that trickled from Sam's cadaver.

"SAM!"

Gabriel sighed and swallowed his candy with sweet regret. His work was never done.

He moved towards the hunter, frowning as Dean's eyes failed to track his progress. When he grabbed the hunter's chin, twisting his head, he discovered why. The skin on Dean's eyes was thick and dry, destroyed by the quick flash of angelic light. Humans were so surprisingly fragile.

"You sick sonuvabitch!" Dean hissed, his rage not at all tempered by his current state. "Let go of me. What did you do to Sam? SAM!"

Gabriel placed a hand over Dean's mouth, cutting off the hunter's tortured screams. "I already told you what I did to Sam. He's gone and no one will be able to find him. Not Castiel. Not Michael. Not Lucifer." Dean whimpered beneath his touch and Gabriel gave a sad smile. "Don't you understand? The apocalypse is over. Lucifer doesn't have anything to wear. He can't confront Michael because he can't win. With Sam out of the picture the whole shebang grinds to a halt. No 'more end of days.' I thought that's what you wanted."

Tears fell from sightless eyes as Gabriel removed his hand. Dean's voice was a cracked whisper when it finally slid from his lips. "What I want is my brother."

"Really?" Gabriel snorted, knowing that his gestures would be lost on the man stuck to the wall. "The way you've been going at it I would have thought you'd be glad to be rid of him. He's the albatross around his neck. He's been weighing you down since you guys were kids. It was always "look after Sam" and "watch out for your brother." And how did he repay you? He left. He left you and Daddy dearest to face the big evils of the world. And when he came back," Gabriel shook his head, "Whew, did he ever screw _that_ up. He got you sent to Hell, got himself hooked on demon blood and then went and managed to start the end of the world all because he was ignoring you in favor of a hell bitch. Why would you ever want to hang out with him? He's done nothing for you."

"Please," Dean begged, knowing it was already too late. "He's my brother. Please."

Gabriel gave a gusty sigh that was completely undercut by his predatory smile. "I like you, kiddo, so I'll explain your options.

"Option one; I heal your eyes up and send you on your merry little way. You live the rest of your life however you decide to along with your little angel buddy, no threat of impending doom or Michael prancing around in your skin. When the end comes you float up to Heaven along with all the other boys and girls to hang out with Mommy and Daddy, spending the rest of eternity in bliss." Gabriel fell silent, letting his words sink in. He new it would take Dean a few seconds to catch on that he would finally be _free_.

"Or?" Dean prodded desperately.

"_Or,_" Gabriel drawled the word, "I bind you to Sam. You go where he goes. Forever. There'll be no eternal rest or afterlife for either of you. You'll be trapped for all eternity, your souls linked making it impossible to escape from one another. You'll be barred from Heaven and Hell, never to see anyone again. Your parents, your friends, and any lover you may have picked up will be out of your reach. You will never be able to undo this or take it back and no one has the power to fix it. Even if Michael, Lucifer and I worked together you'd still be lost to Heaven."

"But I'd be with Sam?" Dean asked tentatively.

"Did you miss the part where you go to neither Heaven nor Hell forever? And forever as in Castiel isn't going to save your stupid ass again."

"But you said I'd be with Sammy. Forever."

"Yes. I said that. Glad to see your ears work." Gabriel rolled his eyes. The Winchesters brought new meaning to one-track mind. "Now I'll get that this is a big decision so I'll come back in a week, so your angel buddy can tell you I'm not lying about-"

Dean shook his head. "No. I pick option two."

Gabriel blinked in surprise. He knew Dean was a stubborn bastard, but this was impressive. There had been zero self-regard. It was a bit eerie. It also explained a whole bunch about Sam's baggage. John had sure done a number on his kid. "Are you sure you understand your choices here? This is a big decision. Once you take the red pill there is no going back."

"Sam or no Sam. I pick Sam," Dean growled. As if that was any kind of choice.

"Is that your final answer?"

"Just fucking get it over with," Dean snarled into the darkness.

Gabriel grinned as he rolled up a sleeve.

"This is going to hurt."

x—x-x—x

Jack had been having a good year. He had been promoted the Head of Homeworld Command, the Atlantis expedition had rang home to let the good folks at the SGC know that they hadn't been wiped out, the latest Goa'uld attack on Earth had been repelled and Daniel Jackson hadn't died recently. Things had been going great. Which means that he shouldn't have been surprised when everything turned to shit.

But he was. Crap like this always knocked Jack for a bit of a loop. It was probably his inborn optimism that did it, that little seed of belief that if people couldn't at least become good they would grow to be smart enough to realize that fucking with him was a very stupid thing to do. That and the usual progression of events had been interrupted. He was used to Daniel, sometimes Sam but usually Daniel, being the one kidnapped. There would be the dramatic search, an intimidation tactic here, a few squeezed fingers there, couple of bullets shot off and then voila, job well done. Nobody ever went after Jack.

Well, Jack amended as he tugged listlessly at his handcuffs, almost nobody went after Jack. Someone had either screwed up big or grown a set.

As the blindfold was pulled off his face the cocky swagger of a young man who really couldn't be far out of his teens provided Jack with a bit of an answer. The kid spun the empty chair that had been placed in front of Jack, sitting on it backwards so he could rest his chin against the back while he read from a suspiciously familiar file. "Lieutenant General Jonathan O'Neill, service number 69-4-141, recipient of a whole shit load of medals including the Defense Superior Service Medal, Air Force Distinguished Service Medal, National Defense Service Medal, yada yada blah blah blah, currently serving as the Secretary of Homeworld Command." The boy snapped the file shut, flashing Jack a smirk. "But that really doesn't scratch the surface, now does it?"

Jack lifted his eyebrows. "Really? That's how you're going to start this off? By reading my service record? So you can what, bore me into submission? And here I was all ready to be impressed with you."

Despite the terrible introduction to interrogation technique, Jack actually _was_ impressed. Jack had been spending the evening schmoozing, though not by choice, at some bigwig charity event to satisfy the higher ups in Washington. One of the downsides to his new job was that he had been forced to start playing with the politicians on capital hill. After two hours of polite conversation with people who were looking for any chance they could get to destroy him Jack had considered his civic duty performed. He had been grabbing his coat when he was jumped, hand over the mouth and a needle to the neck, and had been dragged off by his unseen assailant. Even if it was an inside job, which it pretty much had to be, the fact that this kid had managed to sneak up on Jack and get him out unseen was unnerving. When Jack had been younger they would have been no way for this sort of thing to happen. Getting old sucked.

Ahead of him the young punk looked down at the paperwork and Jack took the opportunity to survey his surroundings. He was in a barn, which was actually surprising. Jack had been expecting a warehouse. Why? Because it was _always_ a warehouse. There was an unwritten rule or something. Yet here he was, bound to a chair in Old MacDonald's farm. Then again, Jack noted with derision, a barn wasn't that different from a warehouse. It was still a large empty space that was poorly light by an overhead bulb that seemed to be clinging to life by sheer force of will alone. The floor was covered in miscelanious debris that you would not walk through while in bare feet and something somewhere was giving off an unpleasant odor. There was an open loft instead of a system of catwalks and behind his kidnapper Jack could see a perimeter exit. There was likely one behind him as well, but Jack couldn't crane his neck that far to be certain. Surprisingly enough his attacker seemed to be alone. There were no guards to be seen on the inside nor did the few grimy windows hint at movement behind them. The loft floorboards were also silent, strengthening his impression that this was a one-man show.

Well, one-boy show. The guy couldn't be older than twenty-three. This was going to be embarrassing. Sure, Daniel was kidnapped all the time but at least he was taken down by a bunch of bulky goons on steroids. Jack had gone and let Ward Cleaver get the jump on him. Seriously the kid looked like he should be playing baseball instead of good cop bad cop. He had short spiky hair that's color dared people to say brown so it could go, "ha! Dirty blonde," and was sporting a soft tan that didn't quite hide the few freckles that licked across his nose. Wide green eyes and soft features only added to the picture of innocence and Jack was willing to bet that the kid knew it. Worse yet, Jack felt like he was missing something important and it was annoying him almost as much as the handcuffs.

The kid smirked, seemingly unaffected by Jack's back talking. "Then where would you like to start?" he drawled.

Jack cocked his head in fake consideration. "Actually, I think I'd like to know where your mom is. She at the store or just didn't have the money for a babysitter?"

There was a soft snort. "Good thing you're not in charge here. I'd be answering stupid questions all night."

"Haven't you heard? There is no such thing as a stupid question."

The kid rolled his eyes. "Yes, because the stupid people asking them get additional IQ points by adding a question mark to the end of a statement." Then the humor in the kid's faced vanished like the sun behind clouds, leaving only a stormy expression that promised danger and destruction. "The American military flagged four files. I want to know why and I want to know what is being done to the folks Uncle Sam tagged." Once again Jack had that nagging feeling that he was missing a piece of the puzzle.

"And I would know this because…?" Jack trailed off.

"You signed the orders."

"Look kid," Jack's tone was laden with exasperation, "do you have any idea how many trees I kill in a day? I'm up to my ass in paperwork. Even if I did sign off on this there is no way I'm going to know what you're talking about without a little more to go on."

"Williams, Michelle." A familiar picture was tossed at Jack's feet. "Cooper, Blake." Another picture. "Hayes, Gregory." Another photo. "Winchester, Samuel."

Jack watched as the final photo fell into place before looking up to meet steely green eyes when suddenly everything clicked and this became a whole different ballgame. "There were five people, Dean. We flagged you as well."

Dean Winchester shrugged. "I'm not missing."

Jack swallowed to ease the guilt in his gut as his mind immediately began to churn out the details of the thin file he'd memorized.

Samuel Winchester, born in Kansas on February 6th, 1984, four minutes after his fraternal twin to Lenore Winchester. The family had moved from California to Kansas in '83. The existence of sealed legal documents that had buried under money and reputations made Lenore's pregnancy the most likely reason for the move. After the birth of the twins Lenore moved to live on her own, receiving a generous living allowance from an unknown benefactor. She had been seventeen when she gave birth. She was still using the allowance as her primary source of income.

Dean and Samuel were well provided for. Judging by the amount of documentation of the boys' care it was likely that monthly inspections were a part of whatever contract Lenore had signed. Whoever had performed them had done so out of more than just a worn sense of duty. Each report held not just a professional evaluation of the children but also an update on personality and behavior.

These reports, along with the results of the interviews with previous instructors and employers, painted vivid pictures of the children. Samuel had amazing academic performance and participated in a wide variety of extracuricular activities, many of which focused on helping other youth. There were a few fights listed on his permanent record but the teachers involved claimed that the only reason Samuel had been punished was out of precedent. Samuel was a dream come true.

Dean, while brilliant like his brother, lacked the younger boy's motivation. He coasted through school and more often than not was using his smarts to make trouble. His file was bursting with black marks from brilliant pranks, from gluing a teacher to his desk to replacing one of the football player's shampoo with Nair. The kid was also a skirt chaser, often flitting from girlfriend to girlfriend like a bee from flower to flower. He had gotten him into trouble with jealous boyfriends more than once.

Despite the boyish charm that Dean held there had been an undercurrent of worry in regards to his stability, especially where his brother was concerned. Someone had once made the mistake of going after Samuel in revenge for Dean wooing away their date. While Samuel had been sporting a black eye for a week the youth in question was in traction for a month. Dean had been forced to complete an anger management program.

There were several incidents of similar nature in Dean's file, so it was a huge surprise that when Samuel went to university, Dean stayed behind to work in a local garage as well as volunteer firefight. Samuel snagged a full scholarship to Stanford where he been studying anthropology and had been once again amazing all the professors. He had also been keeping up with his community involvement.

Then Samuel had participated in a blood drive. While testing the blood for the usual array of issues a scan for the presence of the ATA gene had also been performed. The NID had listed the gene as a 'potentially harmful' marker, forcing through a policy to ensure that all blood donations were scanned for it.

It was only luck that the SGC found out about the scans. A rogue NID member had had a change of heart and had traded the information for safety and protection. By that time the NID had been aware of Samuel for three weeks. He had already been missing for two. The SGC's efforts to revoke the policy and protect other civilians who showed up positive felt like too little, too late when staring at the picture of the young college student who had once had a promising future.

Dean had also disappeared soon after his brother, though he had given notice. He'd shown up to work, told his boss that his family was in trouble and walked out the door. No one in town had heard or seen from him since.

That had been six months ago.

And here Dean was now, sitting pretty as can be holding Eyes Only documents, (mental note to increase security [again]) while chatting with a kidnapped department head "You've been busy," Jack noted dryly.

"So have you," the twenty year old fired back. "But you see, the thing about people? They don't just go missing. Other people stop looking for them."

Jack gave a weary sigh, his years of service pressing down. "Cooper, Hayes and Williams are in protective custody. We don't know where your brother is."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Protection from who?"

Jack _knew_ he should keep his mouth shut. Then again, he also had known that he and his team shouldn't have commandeered the Stargate all those years ago. Doing what he should had never been Jack's style. "The NID. The National Intelligence Department," Jack elaborated when he saw the kid's look. "Basically they're a corrupt group of government spooks bent on making my life hell."

"What would they want with Sammy?" Dean peered intently, hanging on Jack's every word.

"Your brother has a special gene that they've been trying to get their hands on in the hopes of replicating it."

Dean's voice was a low growl. "And how would they go about doing that?"

Jack shook his head. "Don't ask that. You don't want to know."

"What are they going to do to Sammy?" Dean insisted.

Jesus, Jack hated being the bearer of bad news but he figured he owed the kid the truth. His brother had been snatched under Jack's watch. "They'll start with collecting samples. Skin, blood, marrow and eventually organ tissue. When they have what they need they'll move into various forms of genetic manipulation and experimentation. After they've collected the data they require he'll be disposed of." Jack tilted his head down. "I'm sorry."

In the chair across from him Dean stiffened, rage pouring off of him like steam from boiling water. The kid took a deep breath and his body relaxed into his anger, giving Jack the impression of a cat waiting to pounce. He even managed a soft smile as he continued with the questions. "What do the brain worms have to do with it?"

What the hell? "Brain worms?"

"Ugly worm thingies about this long," Dean indicated with his hands, "That crawl into the back of your neck and take over your brain. They make your eyes glow funky."

Dean _had_ been busy. Jack debated with what to say but in for a dime, in for a dollar. "They're a sentient alien parasite that are able to infect humans and control their bodies."

"Aliens."

"Yup." Jack nodded earnestly.

"Seriously?"

"I save my joking for Thursdays."

Dean leaned back in the chair, tilting it so the back two legs rose into the air before slamming into the dusty floorboards. "Huh." He shook his head. "Our lives are weird."

Jack stared at Dean. "You're rather calm about all this." Understatement of the century.

Dean grinned. "Would panicking help?"

"It would make _me_ feel better."

Dean pinned the general with a stare before letting out a chuckle. "I like you, Johnny."

"It's Jack, actually." He hadn't been Johnny since grade school.

"Jack then," Dean acknowledge with a grin. "So what are the hawk tarts that the alien brain worms are after?"

"A hok'tar," Jack corrected grimly. If the Goa'uld had located a hok'tar Earth was in some serious shit. "Basically it means superhuman. People who can move shit with their minds or blown stuff up with a look."

"Sonuvabitch," Dean murmured, running a hand through his hair.

"Dean," Jack waited for the kid's attention before continuing. "They're going to be after you and if you keep this up eventually they are going to catch you. I can help. We can take you somewhere and make you safe. We'll find your brother. We can help you," Jack implored.

Dean snorted. "You've got alien brain worms wearing people like meat suits working with feds and you think you can keep me safe from that?" His voice was laden with skepticism.

"They've been trying to kill me for years," Jack pointed out.

"And what guarantees do I have that you guys aren't going to just put me on a slab and go spelunking in my skull?"

Jack shrugged as best he could with the handcuffs. "I've got the gene. They didn't mess around with me." Dean tapped his lip, obviously thinking about Jack's offering. Jack was really hoping he'd accept and not just because it was the fastest way to get him out of handcuffs. "Dean," Jack gave an earnest gaze, "Trust me. I'm trying to help."

"Dude, maybe we should trust him," a second voice floated down from above and behind Jack, making the General start.

Dean glared at hidden figure. "Do you not understand the phrase 'silent as the grave'?"

There was a beat of silence. "Are you trying to be ironic?"

Dean's retort was lost as the room filled with white light. He was already surging forward, the chair he had been resting on thrown to the ground as he pushed all. He rolled across the small space to his prisoner in the blinding brilliance.

When the light receded Dean had a pistol pressed against General Jack O'Neill's face. "Nobody move or I ventilate the general!" Dean ordered, glaring at the newcomers in the room.

"Sir?" Jack heard Carter call out, a little unsure. He couldn't blame her. The point of Asgard beaming technology was to show up and scare the shit out of your target, not to have them responding before you fully materialized. Dean really was something.

He was also a scared kid and if pulled the trigger no amount of explaining was going to get him or his buddy out of trouble. This needed to end without bloodshed, especially since it was Jack's blood that was the most likely to be shed and he really liked this shirt. The suit not so much, but the shirt was comfortable despite the collar. "No casualties. I want to talk to these two when you're done."

As a soft glow enveloped he caught Dean's panicked stare and heard the sound of the zats cocking.

Then Jack was pulled up into the Daedalus's embrace.

x—x-x—x


	2. Demanding vs Asking Nicely

AN- This chapter might be a bit weak. I quit watching SG-1 circa season 5, so Cameron Mitchell and Hank Landry are characters I'm unfamiliar with. A big thanks to all reviewers and alerters and favoriters. I try to respond to all comments made and if I missed you I'm sorry. Any input, whether positive or negative, is greatly appreciated.

* * *

**Puddle Jumping**

Chapter 2

The Difference Between Demanding and Asking Nicely

* * *

When Gabriel had shown up and informed Sam he was going to tear out Sam's soul to cast it so it was set adrift infinite realities, being reborn here was not what Sam had expected.

There were no ghosts, goblins or ghouls to fight. His family hadn't been murdered. His mother hadn't sold him to the forces of darkness before he was born. He wasn't moved around monthly in a vain attempt to hide from those forces. Nothing had tried to eat, maim or kill him because of who his father was. The friends of the family didn't break off relations with buckshot.

Best of all, Dean was with him.

Life wasn't perfect by any means but it was far better than the penance Sam had expected. He and Dean still had their issues, though less pronounced. Dean had become less phobic of the dreaded 'chick flick' moment, so feelings were actually discussed and solutions were found before they took to strangling each other; at least most of the time.

Not that anyone would have noticed if they had. Lenore was never going to win mother of the year and they only knew their father's name because Dean had conned his way into a legal office, just to discover that their Dad didn't know he was a Dad, and the moment he found out Lenore's living allowance would be revoked. That alone had been reason enough to track the guy down, but he had been stationed in Antarctica at the time and something like this required a more deft touch than a letter could provide.

But Sam's problems were things like that. Meeting the absent father, dodging the occasional bully, making certain Dean didn't bury said bully; normal problems with solutions that didn't require salt and sacrifice to fix.

This time when Sam applied for Stanford he told Dean before he mailed his application. And this time when his acceptance came, complete with a full scholarship, Dean had smiled, patted Sam on the back and told him to come home whenever he could manage. This time his family was proud.

Sam hadn't gone back into pre-law, nor had he searched for Jessica. This was a different life, a chance to start again, and Sam was not going to waste it chasing the ghosts of his past. Besides, as this reality had altered Dean it had also altered Sam in some unexpected ways.

Sam had joined the Anthropology Department, with a heavy focus on myths and religions of culture. It was work that Sam enjoyed, especially when none of what he studied was actually out there killing people. He hadn't been sure what he was going to do with his degree when he completed it, but he certainly wasn't going to do to Egypt to dig up corpses as Dean continually suggested. He'd done enough of that to last _three_ lifetimes.

No, Sam's plan had been to get a degree and then head back to Dean.

But when did Sam's plans _ever_ turn out?

The nightmares had come. On the first night Sam had dismissed as it the result of watching an Alien movie marathon and eating too much pizza before bed. It was the most plausible explanation for what he had been dreaming, of the men in dark suits that had dragged him from his apartment; that had strapped him down to a sterile table in a metallic room and cut into his gut, collecting his dripping blood into tiny glass jars.

Then the second night Sam had the dream again.

On the third night, when the NID broke into Sam's apartment, they did so to find it empty.

Four days later Sam received a call on his new cell phone, the one he had registered under the name of Nick Danning. He cautiously opened it.

"Sam?"

Sam had jumped at the sound of his brother's voice. "Dean? How did you get this number?" He ran a hand through his hair as he paced nervously.

Dean had snorted. "Only you would be geeky enough to use a bad sci-fi character as a fake ID. Wormhole X-Treme sucked, dude. It was cancelled after three episodes!"

"It did well on DVD," Sam weakly defended. Okay, so the show had sucked. It was a guilty pleasure.

"Whatever, Sam. I didn't call you to berate your crappy taste in TV." The amusement that had colored Dean's voice had vanished to be replaced with unbridled rage. Sam winced and paused in his pacing so he could hold the phone away from his ear, waiting for his brother's wrath.

"What. The. Hell. Sam." Dean clearly punctuated each word, letting the volume build. "Three days ago I had the cops show up at work to tell me that you were officially _missing_ and that some douchewad had raided your apartment. I _fly_ to California to look for your gigantic ass, break into a crime scene just to discover that if someone snatched you they at least allowed you to gather up your favorite things. Seriously, what the hell, man? You having problems in your degree or something and felt too guilty about taking time off, or did you decide to hit the nose candy and couldn't keep up with payments?" Sam winced at that one but before he could protest Dean steamrolled over him. "I _flew_ to California. You'd better have one hell of an explanation or so help me I'm going to send you to your next life myself!"

"I had a bad dream," Sam answered softly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat on a ragged motel bed.

"A bad dream." In the silence Sam could picture Dean staring incredulously at the phone. "You know, when most people have bad dreams they _call someone_, not go play Carmen Sandiego."

Sam flopped down. "Most people don't have my type of bad dreams." Sam absently picked at a button on his over shirt.

"Where are you?"

"Flagstaff."

"I'll be there is eight hours." The connection was cut with an audible click.

Sam sighed and flicked his own phone shut, berating himself for not calling Dean sooner even as he felt something inside him relax. Big brother was coming.

But when the door opened it wasn't Dean.

Men in full tactical gear flooded the room. Sam sat up only to flop back down, staring in bleary confusion at the darts sticking out of his chest as darkness suck on his mind.

Sam winced as the world slowly slipped back into place, sterile light burrowing into his corneas. With a pained groan he tried to lift his arm, to cover his eyes from the unforgiving luminance, only to discover the limb strapped in place. He lolled his head drunkenly, trying to discern his surroundings.

The room was cold and lifeless, the walls and shelves made out of spotless surgical steel. Thick leather bands strapped down his wrist his to a smooth metal table that had a slight lip, designed to catch spilled fluid. The pale light flickered from the ceiling and poured from a posable lamp somewhere near his head.

A hand pulled his head back by his soft hair, stretching his neck until it was painful to breathe. He found himself staring into glowing golden eyes. He tried to twist, to pull away, but his weak resistance was met by a cruel smile.

"He is nice." The voice was strange, hollow and deep like an abandoned mine. The only emotion it revealed was a cold arrogance that Zachariah would have been envious of. "Are you certain he is Hok'tar?"

"Yes." This voice sounded human, wet and greedy. "With the 'dreams' he mentioned to his brother and his flight from our forces it is the only reasonable explanation."

"Good." The hand released Sam's hair, easing the constriction in his airway. Instead of returning to its owner, the hand danced across Sam's scalp, brushing stray hairs away from his forehead almost tenderly before drawing back to hover several inches above his head. Sam frowned, trying to dredge up enough spit to ask what the hell was going on when the world exploded into golden agony.

Sam didn't scream. It wasn't because he didn't want to. He was trying his best but nothing was responding. His nerves were on fire, pulling and stretching even while he could feel his jaw clenching, could imagine that his teeth were cracking. Everything was burning and churning and pulling in a million different directions. He couldn't even writhe as his limbs melted into their torment.

By the time he realized the pain had ended he had been flipped onto his stomach. He could feel relentless hands pulling at his shirt, ripping the material from his back. He watched as someone else entered the room, carrying a clear jar. Sam's eyes widened as he saw the contents.

A pale worm the size of a rattlesnake was suspended in a clear liquid. It was using two small fins to lazily paddle its way through the goop, its top fringe shaking. From its mouth protruded four fangs sticking straight out, flaring grotesquely as beady eyes spotted Sam.

If the youngest Winchester's mouth had been working he would have screamed for all he was worth, never mind the comments Dean would make about him being a girl. The urge only heightened when the creature was pulled from his view. He could hear the scraping of a twisting lid, the wet squelching sound as something was dragged from muck. A keening noise reached his ears as something cold and slimy was set tenderly against his spine.

The soft screeching was the only warning before something was tunneling into the back of Sam's skull, burrowing into his consciousness and trapping the youngest Winchester in silence and anguish.

Sam sat up, sweat dripping from his face as he gasped, his chest heaving as he tried to drag in air. Dream. It was just a dream.

No. Sam shook his head and laughed hysterically. It wasn't a dream. It had been a vision.

Whoever they were they knew where he was and they would be there before Dean.

He grabbed his duffle, still packed and resting on the bed, and moved into the bathroom. He'd fit through the window, if only just, but it would have to be enough. He didn't know how much time he had. Not enough, by any means. There was never enough.

Sam was in a stolen car heading south when he called Dean.

He tapped his drummed his fingers anxiously on the wheel as he muttered desperately to himself.

"Come on Dean, pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick _up_!"

"Hello?"

"Dean, it's Sam. Look, Flagstaff becomes a funky town after dark. I've decided to head over to old man Murdoch's to see if he has any answers but I've got to some stuff to drop off first. I spilled some crocotta and it is really starting to stink up the joint."

Sam held his breath, praying Dean would understand his rushed explanation. He didn't relax it until he heard his older brother mutter a curse.

"I take it the crocotta juice spilt on my crap, too? That's just swell," Dean let out a weary sigh. "Look, I'll meet you at Murdoch's and we'll figure this out."

Together they'd tried but they had nothing to go. The only reason they even knew Sam was in trouble was from his visions and besides the creepy government experimentation they gave little away. It had taken months of hacking and breaking into government files and offices before the brothers had even found pieces to put together. The name Harold Maybourne had floated to the surface time and time again but the man himself was gone, vanished into thin air. He'd had several known associates but the one that had been the most promising had been a general promoted to the position of "Secretary of Homeworld Command."

By that time they were out of options. Sam's visions had progressed from fevered nightmares to the waking hallucinations that knocked him to his knees. Worse, they seemed to be the only thing between the boys and whoever was after them. It was becoming almost common for Dean to drag a barely coherent Sam to their latest ride only to watch as dark SUVs streamed to where they had just been.

Enough was enough.

So they'd grabbed the general and he'd fully cooperated without things having to get ugly. They had finally been getting somewhere, even if the place they were heading was strange and fantastical.

Now General O'Neill was missing, gone in a burst of white light that had left behind a freaking platoon of soldiers holding weapons that Sam had never seen before and they were all pointed at Dean.

Dean looked up, catching Sam's eye from behind the square bales where he had ducked. A single word ran across his face. _Run._

Sam stiffened his shoulders. _I'm not leaving you._

Dean shifted. _Dammit Sammy, run!_

"Drop your weapon!" The blonde woman who had spoken to O'Neill before he'd vanished lifted her weapon, still oblivious of Sam's position. The younger brother pressed his advantage, pulling a blade from to his boot.

Dean's piece clattered to the floor and he held up his hands with a cocky smile, intending to play distraction while Sam escaped. Like that was going to happen. "Easy now," he drawled. "We're all friends here, right?"

Sam sawed at the twine, the fragile stings snapping silently.

"On the ground!" The woman ordered, obviously pissed.

Dean looked at the dirty floorboards before dragging his gaze up, making sure to examine every inch of his opponent. He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "You do know there are cleaner places to do that sort of thing?"

She pulled the trigger and blue lightening slammed into Dean. His eyes rolled into back of his head as he slumped to the floor.

Everyone lowered their weapons, the threat contained.

Yeah, right.

Sam grabbed the top bale and hooked his hand under the one piece of twine holding it together. He heaved, snapping his wrist as the bale took flight. It jutted forward, pitching free and bursting into a thousand pieces of hay and dust. Sam spun, letting his momentum carry him through on a roundhouse kick, launching another exploding bale into the air.

Below him soldiers coughed as they cursed, shielding their eyes from the damaging particles as they vainly searched for the source of the attack.

Sam jumped, rolling as he landed and keeping his eyes closed. He clattered into the chair O'Neill had been chained to and pushed it out of the way as he scrambling towards Dean, feeling blindly for his brother's inert form. He scooped Dean into a fireman's hold and blindly charged, feeling bodies bounce away like ping pong balls from his bulk as he impacted. He chanced opening his eyes and spotted the door only a few feet away. Beyond it lie the car and escape. A few steps and Dean would be safe.

A large hand grabbed his elbow and tugged, forcing Sam to stagger to the side. Dean slid from Sam's shoulder and slammed into the ground.

Sam threw a punch, forcing whoever had grabbed him to let go as it connected. He took a few steps back, bringing his hands up defensively as he studied his opponent.

The large black man across from him slid into a fighter's stance with the ease of a master, his stony face giving nothing away as he studied Sam's movements.

Sam launched himself forward, tossing more punches only to have each one blocked. His opponent tried to grasp Sam, who had to retreat as he broke the grip. Sam growled. He didn't have time for this! He aimed one high then one low hoping to force his opponent off balance.

Instead the man caught Sam's wrist, holding it with almost demonic strength as he twisted the arm behind Sam's back and pulled the youngest Winchester parallel to his body. Sam threw his head back, smashing the man's nose even as he stomped on his insole. He staggered forward as he was released.

There was a blue flash and Sam's body dissolved in pins and needles.

x—x-x—x

The current SG-1 team sat in the briefing room. Daniel was sitting in his chair with his hands laced in front of him as he leaned forward, as though an increased proximity to the problem would offer a solution. Cameron Mitchell was leaning back, reclining slightly as though by distancing himself from the issue would somehow make this crappy day end. Jack O'Neill was spinning his chair from side to side as he doodled in the small puddle left from the condensation on the water glass in front of him. General Landry was sitting at the head of the table and once again looked stern and worn. Teal'c sat up straight in his usual posture. The only hints of his emotions lay in the tense setting of his jaw, which was apparently only to those who knew him well, and the dark bruising that splashed across his nose, which was obvious to all. While the broken nose was setting quickly the Tretonin did not allow for healing as quickly as the symbiote had. Still a bruised Jaffa was a rare sight to see.

Samantha Carter stood at the far end of the table. Instead of carrying her usual enthusiasm for problem solving she looked troubled. "These," she placed her hands on a small stack of paper, "Are the files we recovered from the barn. They include General O'Neill's service record, the files we have on Blake Cooper, Gregory Hayes, Michelle Williams, and of course, Sam Winchester. They also including funding reports approved by O'Neill for the SGC."

"So they know about the SGC?" Daniel asked, peering through his glasses in surprise.

"Not quite. You see the way the finance office handles Stargate Command funding is primarily through our cover of deep space telemetry. However the program requires more funds than can be justified by that type of operation, especially with our expansion into the Pegasus Galaxy. A system was devised to hide the numbers from those who didn't have clearance."

"Basically," Jack took over the explanation, "We've been doing some tricky bookkeeping. The kids figured out that the money wasn't going where we said it was and since I gave the okay I'd know something." He drummed his fingers on the desk.

Sam nodded. "That's the most likely what happened. However, that wasn't all they figured out." She bent down and lifted a large bin from the floor. She began to heft paper out, forming untidy piles of folders and loose sheets. When she was down she moved the first pile to the bin and returned it to the ground, until all that was on the table were two giant untidy stacks of paper and problems.

"These," she waved a hand over them to avoid the risk of a paper avalanche, "Are the files we recovered from their car and motel room." Sam looked down at the piles as though at a loss as to where to begin. "They've got our shipment manifests, personnel records, power and water consumption, theses on quantum theory, medical research." She shook her head, staring at the paperwork as though it had betrayed her.

"Guess we need to tighten up security," groused Mitchell.

"It's more than that," Sam pushed. "They have every paper file that exists out side of this facility on Harry Maybourne. Dr. Lee is working on the laptop we recovered and I would not be surprised if he discovers they had digital files as well."

Jack ceased his doodling. "So they what? Connected the NID to Harry and then Harry to me?"

"Most likely." Sam studied the pile again before glancing at O'Neill. "Jack, they had your schedule."

"Jack doesn't keep a schedule," Daniel cut in, staring skeptically at Sam.

She pressed her fingers to her temple. "I know."

"Oh," Daniel leaned back as the implications of that sank in. He met Jack's eyes. "You really need to start locking your house."

Jack shook his head. "I don't think a lock would have stopped these guys."

Landry leaned forward before Jack and Daniel could get into it. "So what you're saying is that in six months these boys basically managed to gather every document on the SGC that doesn't actually mention the SGC-"

"While dodging the NID," added Jack.

Landry continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. "While dodging the NID," he ignored Jack's smirk, "and then gathered personal intelligence on General O'Neill which lead to his subsequent capture and interrogation with absolutely no history of military or any other sort of training?"

"The tall one was well versed in hand-to-hand combat and showed a high understanding of battlefield tactics." Teal'c raised an eyebrow, daring anyone to counter his opinion.

"Yet there's nothing in their files to explain that," Sam muttered, still annoyed with herself that Samuel had managed to get the drop on her team. He could have very easily killed someone.

"They could be ninjas," Jack pointed out.

Landry looked at Sam, silently urging her to continue. "Dr. Lam is running the blood work as we speak but all other tests have indicated a normal prognosis. Neither show any signs of having hosted a symbiote or any other type of parasite. There are no physical indications of any alien physiology or of genetic tampering."

"So they aren't clones or robots," Daniel mused, thinking back to SG-1's encounters with both.

"So what are they?" Landry asked. The SG team looked at each other uncomfortably.

Jack leaned back in his chair. "In the barn Dean mentioned the hok'tar." Attention focused on Jack like a laser. Daniel spun his chair quick enough to give himself whiplash, Sam gawked, her eyebrows disappearing into her hair line while Teal'c tilted his head.

"Now how did they know about that?" Daniel asked, adjusting his glasses.

"And why didn't you mention it earlier?" Landry glowered at his predecessor.

Jack shrugged. "Haven't been debriefed yet. The kid also knew about the Goa'uld, by sight, not by name, what they did and how their eyes go all glowy when pissed."

"Being a hok'tar would adequately explain how they were able to hide themselves for so long." Teal'c turned his gaze to Daniel.

"But they didn't show any signs of special powers we when rescued Jack," Daniel countered.

"Nor have they demonstrated any preternatural abilities during their containment." Sam's frustration was eating away at her normally calm demeanor.

"You know," Jack added in his I-not-as-smart-as-the-rest-of-you-guys tone, "We could just go ask them."

Simple solutions often were best.

x—x-x—x

Sam was picked to conduct the first interview with Dean largely because of how he had reacted to her in the barn. His file and mannerisms said he liked women, so they'd give him a woman.

Sexist bastards, grumbled Sam's inner monologue despite knowing that this was the easiest path. She still hated being singled out because of her gender.

"Sam!" She paused in he progression to the interrogation room to see O'Neill chasing after her.

"Jack," She acknowledged with a grin. "Did you come save me from teenage hormones?"

"Nah. I came to tell you to take of your jacket."

She looked down at her standard uniform with concern. "What's wrong with my jacket?"

Jack shrugged. "It hides how tight your shirt is." He held up his hands amicably when she glared. "Hey, I'm just saying. If you are going to play the part you need to play it. We need the info and you're the right… woman for the job." Jack winked.

Sam glared and shook her head. With her chin raised high she strode to the interrogation room. She sighed as she reached it, two guards parting to give her access to the door. She pulled off her jacket and aggressively handed it to Jack. "If this doesn't work I'm suing the entire SGC for sexual harassment," she threatened before entering the room, once again ignoring Jack's chuckles.

Jack turned to airman standing guard. "Be a dear and hold the colonel's coat." He passed the jacket off and disappeared into the tunnels of the SGC. He had his own interrogation to attend to.

x—x-x—x

Carter's second impression of Dean was drastically different from her first. Instead of the dangerous opponent holding a gun to Jack's face she was met with a young man who was completely lost in playing out a drum solo on the interrogation table, not impeded in the least by the handcuffs anchoring him there. His eyes were shut tightly as his head bobbed into time to music that Sam couldn't even guess at and for a moment it was too easy for her to see her brother Mark playing on drums in the garage.

She forced the image away as she sat down. Mark had never kidnapped anyone. Dean was dangerous, no matter how he looked.

She leaned back, waiting for him to finish his task to acknowledge her instead of interrupting. He managed to keep up the beat for an entire minute before his mind moved to him a grand finale.

She waited for him to look up, to acknowledge her first. Let him feel as though he was setting the pace of the interview. Let him feel like he was in control.

It seemed to work because when he finally saw Sam he acknowledged her with a Cheshire grin, the tension in his shoulders easing considerably. "Hey."

"Hello." Sam set the file she had brought with her down and used her free hand to brush a lock of her short hair back, trying to hook it behind her ear. "I'm Sam."

Dean snorted. "Really?"

"Yes," she responded tersely, jutting out her chin. What the hell was wrong with her name?

"Sorry," Dean offered but the smirk never left his face. "It's an inside joke." He shuffled, handcuffs clinking as he tried to get more comfortable in the metal chair. "I'm Dean."

"Well Dean, you're pretty good at that. The whole drumming thing," Sam specified at Dean's confusion. "Do you play?"

Dean made an obvious effort to check her out, his eyes lingering on her chest when he replied. "I've been known to dabble with a set or two."

Instead of gagging like she wanted to Carter leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table so that she could rest her breast on top of them. "Is that so?" She grinned.

Dean pulled his gaze from her chest to meet her eyes. He was cute she had to admit. Not her type but she could tell she was one of the few. He had jade eyes, the green bright and clear, framed by a fan of dark lashes. His features were a bit rounded, giving his face a perpetually youthful appearance he'd probably still have when he turned forty. Soft lips that would make a girl envious completed the heartthrob look that would always make sure Dean had more women chasing him then he knew what to do with, no matter how rotten his personality may be. Judging by the roguish spikes of his hair and the dark leather jacket he wore he damn well knew it too.

Dean leaned back, preening under her gaze. "Well," Dean smirked. "You've shot me once. I think it's only fair that I show you how I handle my weapon." The emphasis on the last word was unmistakable.

Sam wanted to roll her eyes, maybe even shoot Dean again. The things she did for her country.

"I'd like that," she smiled. "But first I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

"Sure," Dean grinned.

Sam opened the file she had brought in with her. It was one of files on Maybourne. "Tell me how you acquired this?"

Dean flipped it towards him and rifled through the paper, looking at curiously before recognition on dawned on his face. "I asked for it."

She raised her eyebrows. "You asked for it?"

"I asked nicely."

"Nicely." Sam didn't bother to hide her skepticism.

"I asked very nicely," Dean drawled.

Sam gave what she hoped was a sexy pout. "Dean, you're going to have to give me more than that if you want me to help you."

Dean let out a wry chuckle. "Help me? You don't even know what I want." He winked and once again made a show of looking her over.

She leaned further forward, dropping her voice to a seductive whisper. "What do you want?"

x—x-x—x

Jack whistled a jaunty tune as he carried a cafeteria tray down the hallway, Teal'c following him like the dark cloud that haunted Eeyore. Jack doubted he needed him but the Jaffa had insisted that he at least be in the hallway incase something should happen. He was worried that Jack would not "be able to adequately defend himself" and while it was nice to know the big guy cared it hurt that he didn't think that Jack could take care of himself. It's not like he was one to let a kid get the jump on him.

Wait.

Maybe Teal'c had a point.

But it didn't really change anything. Hammond had often pointed out that Jack was reckless and impertinent, and while Jack would claim that he was plenty pertinent he couldn't really argue the other point. Besides, it worked for him. Not always well, but it worked.

"Teal'c, be a buddy and get the door?"

The large alien frowned. "I still believe I should accompany you. Samuel Winchester showed a great deal of proficiency in combat." Despite his words he still unlocked the entrance.

"Don't worry, Teal'c," Jack grinned. "I'll scream if I need you, all right?" With that Jack ducked into the room.

He took one look at the kid and knew that he had made the right choice in leaving Teal'c behind.

Samuel sat on the floor in the corner farthest from the door with his knees drawn up so that they were practically touching his chest. His shoulders were hunched, allowing him to bury his face into the back of his legs. The kid's long arms were wrapped around the top of his knees, providing his face a fortress from which he could surreptisisously peek out from behind the dark fringe that obscured his eyes. To top it off Samuel was rattling like a poplar leaf.

Jack took a few steps into the room, watching Samuel out of the corner of his eye as he made his way over. The kid flinched when the door shut with a click, trapping him alone in the room with Jack, and practically stopped breathing when Jack joined him on the floor, sitting a few inches away from Samuel's toes and balancing a food tray on his own knee.

Jack really wanted to shoot someone. Like Maybourne. He'd wanted to shoot Maybourne for a long time. Maybe he could force the Tok'ra to tell him where they hid the bastard. Maybe he could just shoot some Tok'ra instead. Stupid snakey pricks. Not that anyone was going to let him despite how badly they deserved it. But if he could find Maybourne they might okay it. The NID had been getting on everyone's last nerve for a while now and the huddling kid in the corner really was just the last straw.

But Jack could shoot them later. He had other things to do right now, like eat jell-o. It was orange jell-o, which was a decidedly respectable color. The juice, however, was purple and made with some bizarre Brazilian fruit. He shook his head mournfully and held up the container. "Juice?" he offered Samuel.

The kid tensed for a second before tilting his head up enough for Jack to see the suspicious gleam in his eye. "No." But Jack could see the way he was eyeing up the container. "Why don't you want it?" he asked after a heavy pause.

Jack looked at the bottle with disgust. "It doesn't match my jell-o. Orange jell-o goes best with orange juice. Purple juice goes best with purple jell-o. Normally I'd offer the juice to Daniel but he's probably reading a book somewhere." Samuel didn't respond, continuing to stare out from his long hair. Jack just shrugged. "I'll set this here if you change your mind." He slowly placed the bottle by Samuel's ankle before turning his concentration back to the jell-o. He made a careful scoop, reveling in the way the jell-o split and cracked in spider webs for the spoon before pulling it up to eye level. He gave the spoon one little jiggle, watching as it danced, before tucking it into his mouth.

When Samuel quietly reached for the bottle of juice, turning it so that it balanced on its lid, Jack said nothing, pretending to be completely absorbed in his next bite. When the kid's stomach gave a loud growl Jack merely smacked his lips in appreciation of the fine cafeteria workers in the SGC.

It wasn't until Samuel hesitantly grabbed the juice that Jack acknowledged the kid's actions. "It's fine, you know. The seal is still intact and it's not leaking anywhere. We didn't add anything to it. It's just juice" Samuel paused, giving Jack a long look. The juice continued its journey, opening with a crack. Jack shouldn't have been surprised when Samuel took a small sip instead of the desperate mouthful he must have been craving. The kid had been refusing to consume anything that entered his cell despite how hungry he must have been. No food wrappers had been found anywhere near Jack's kidnapping. The last time the kid ate must have been ages ago.

Any sense of victory at getting sugar into Samuel died when the kid carefully recapped the juice, setting it on the floor with only one small sip missing.

Jack sighed and slipped his spun into the jell-o, stirring the mess until it had broken into micro-fragments. He continued to destroy the dish even as he spoke. "Look Sammy, I meant what I said in the barn about protecting you and your brother. The whole not actually having to look for you thing is a bonus, but I'm still here to be on your side. If you trust me I can help you." The kid scoffed. Jack moved his tray to his other side, lifted a knee to rest his elbow on it. "I'm not here to hurt you, Sammy."

"It's Sam," came the terse response.

O'Neill grimaced. "I can't call you that. I already know a Sam and she's scarier than you so she gets first choice of nickname."

"Ah," came the sympathetic reply.

"Ah is right," Jack agreed. Sam would probably do something sciency and break his telescope if he started calling her Sammy. "So your options are I either call you Sammy or Samuel. Take your pick."

"Samuel," the kid stated immediately, loosing the ball he had folded himself into and looking up at Jack, his face visible for the first time since the general entered the room.

The kid looked awful. He was pale and drawn with dark circles hanging under his eyes. The kid looked like he'd been on the run for months. It was likely that Samuel hadn't had a decent sleep since the shit hit the fan. Jack really needed to destroy the NID.

"All right Samuel," Jack shifted his arm, sliding it down until his hand rested on his kneecap, "I want to help you."

"But," the kid stated.

"But I need you to trust me." Jack held up his hand as Samuel rolled his eyes, obviously not enthused at the idea of blindly trusting someone he had kidnapped. "I get that we aren't really Bert and Ernie, but I think I have a way to fix that." When Samuel made no move to protest Jack took it as permission to continue. "You know things that I _need_ to know but you're not going to tell me because as long as I need to know, I need you." The kid nodded hesitantly. "So why don't we do it this way? You tell me you what you need, I see what I can do. Trips to Disney Land are out but we might be able to get someone in a Mickey costume in here. Whaddya say?"

Samuel stared intently. "What's the catch?"

"You have to put up with me. Apparently I'm a smartass."

"I can ask for anything I want?"

Internal Jack did a happy dance at the hope in the kid's voice. External Jack just nodded. "Yup. I might turn you down but you can ask."

"I want to see my brother."

x—x-x—x

"Excuse me?" Sam leaned back in surprise.

"I want to see my brother."

"I can't do that for you. But I can do other things if you help me out," she coaxed gently.

"I want to see my brother," Dean repeated in a tone that sent chills down the lieutenant colonel's spine. Gone was the goofy kid who had been drumming and flirting with her. In his stead was the man who had kidnapped General O'Neill, the one who would have pulled the trigger in the barn if given half the chance.

x—x-x—x

"I don't know about that," sighed Jack with true regret. "We get you together and you'll both probably try to escape."

The kid snorted. "Yeah, because escaping from an underground military bunker that utilizes alien technology is on my bucket list."

"Would you really let that stop you?"

Samuel smiled wryly. "Not if I was serious about it, but as you said this is about trust. How can I trust you if you don't trust me?"

x—x-x—x

"Trust you?" Sam asked incredulously. "You had piles of fake IDs and credit cards. You kidnapped a general and you stole military secrets. That doesn't say much in defense of your character."

"Borrowed military secrets," Dean corrected. "After all, you have them all back."

Sam shook her head and for a moment she felt a slight kinship with the System Lords who had been forced to deal with Jack's smart aleck remarks over and over again. "Even if you were squeaky clean, the answer would be no until your tests come back clean."

x—x-x—x

"Tests?" Samuel paled. His breathing became fast and shallow.

"Just standard stuff," O'Neill assured. "It's for the safety of the people of this base. Basically we're making sure you aren't an alien bent on world domination. Until they come back we can't really let you see your brother. For all we know if you two touch the room explodes. I'll wait with you though, and after that we can see if I can't swing something."

Samuel, instead of looking surprised at the reasoning gave a thoughtful nod before looking Jack dead in the eye. "Dean isn't going to wait that long."

x—x-x—x

"I'm not waiting for the results of your experiments on my brother to come in so I can see him," hissed Dean.

Sam arched an eyebrow at him. "You're hardly in a position to be making demands."

Dean's smirk was the only warning Sam had before he was reaching across the table, his hand wrapping around her neck. She brought her own up defensively, ready to break his hold when his other hand grabbed her wrist with a metallic click. He pulled, slamming her hip into the metal table before he hauled her over it. Before her feet reached the ground he spun her so that her back lay flat against his chest, releasing the pressure from her throat. The arm he had grabbed was crossed in front of her chest as the cuff that was supposed to hold Dean instead bound her to him. Her free hand reached for her holstered weapon.

"Looking for this?" She felt a cold muzzle press into her temple. "Before," Dean whispered gently, like a lover, in her ear, "I was asking nicely. Now I'm making demands. I want to see my brother."

x—x-x—x

A frantic Daniel burst into Samuel Winchester's holding cell. "Uh, Jack? We have a problem."

Samuel snorted. "I _told_ you Dean wasn't going to wait."

* * *

I know I used some very fandom specific details so here I will give you the explanations. This will be in every chapter were I use stuff you'd only know if you watched the shows so...

**Confusion Clear ups **

Crocotta- It's a beast that used to call to travellers in the woods. In Supernatural there was one that was using phones to manipulate the boys.

Murdoch-Mordecai Murdoch was the name of a ghost haunting a house in Manning, Texas.

Funky Town-code used by the boys to indicate they are in danger

Harry Maybourne-The first member of the NID that Jack had to deal with. He eventually sought refuge off world.


	3. Mice, Men, and the Military

AN-Atlantis next chapter (finally!) A big thanks to dhrachth who caught a bunch of my spelling mistakes last chapter. If you didn't see them it's because I went back and fixed them after dhrachth pointed them out. Also a huge thanks for pointing out possible flaws and acting as a bit a soundboard. Though I still love the rest of you readers as well. As always all feedback is loved and thanks for your patience. I don't how soon I'll have the next chapter up. I have midterms and essays coming due that I should be working on instead of this, but I'm also horribly irresponsible and great at winging it, so we'll see. Much love and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**Puddle Jumping**

Chapter 3

Mice, Men, and the Military

* * *

Sam Winchester walked through the military corridor with his hands bound in front of him and with a three-man escort. He'd already dismissed the idea of fighting his way out. While he was fairly confident that on a good day he could take out both Jack and Daniel he wasn't willing to add the man Jack called Teal'c to the mix. For starters the broken nose that Sam had left Teal'c with was already mostly healed. The injury looked like it was weeks old instead of a day or so. So whatever Teal'c was, he recovered fast. Second, Sam was not on the top of his game. The constant bombardment of visions had left him worn and exhausted, the lack of food was making him feel light and whatever they'd hit him with in the barn was causing tremors. On top of all that Sam was out of practice. Certainly he and Dean had taken up sparing the past few months but that never truly equated to the same experience that came from actual battle. Sam knew that he'd gotten lucky a few lucky shots off in the barn, but the fact was Teal'c had only acted on the defensive. If he'd been trying to hurt Sam it was likely that he would have succeeded.

Besides, even if he did managed to make a run for it, how far would he truly get? The place was hardly empty, with armed military personnel passing Sam's little escort an average of every five minutes. Giant red buttons were visible every dozen feet or so and the doors were all controlled by digital security.

That and "Lvl-16" had been painted on the wall.

So fighting his way through was out.

Instead Sam stayed quiet, mapping out the floor as he was led away from his cell, and staggering into Daniel from time to time. By the time Sam heard a familiar voice floating through the hallway the older man was helping support Sam's weight.

"You are too a cougar! You're one freaking year younger than my _mom._"

"It was for strategic purposes, not sexual attraction," came the aggrieved reply and Sam winced. They'd tried to seduce Dean? What did they think he was, an amateur?

"Oh honey, denial is so not a river in Egypt."

"Please. You're hardly my type."

"Oh, so you're into women? Or am I not allowed to ask that?"

Under Sam's shoulder Daniel shifted nervously. "Uh, Jack? Don't you think you should intervene before they kill each other?" The caution was unneeded with the general swiftly moving to replace the door stooge of the room.

"You deluded, egotistical, chauvinistic-"

"Hello, campers!" Jack inserted with gusto, cutting off the woman's growing rant.

Teal'c came up beside Sam and placed a massive paw on his shoulder, as though anticipating an outburst of some kind from the youngest Winchester. Sam ignored the hand. From his vantage point he could only see the Jack's back and absolutely nothing of his brother, which meant that Dean couldn't see him either. While it was tempting to call out it wouldn't serve any purpose. Dean already knew what he needed to so instead Sam settled for listening to Jack and Dean negotiate.

"Hey Johnny," Dean greeted the general and Sam couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips. It looks like Jack had a new nickname, wanted or not.

"Dean." Jack's voice was level and pleasant, undermining the seriousness of the situation. "What do you think you're doing?" The general kept his tone more curious than hostile and Sam wasn't sure if it was because that was how O'Neill handled things, or if he had managed to get that good of a read on Dean.

"Oh, you know, this and that." Sam could hear the casual shrug in his brother's tone. "Military Barbie here was interested in how well I could handle a piece and I promised to show her."

"Oh," Daniel whispered next to Sam. "He did not just say that. Did he?" and Sam could only think, he's Dean. Of course he did.

"Military Barbie?" came the indignant squawk. God, Sam loved his brother.

"Quiet Carter," Jack ordered, keeping his tone pleasant. Sam didn't know the man well but he almost sounded amused.

"Carter," Dean rolled the name off of his tongue like a cat licking cream. "You know, if you'd come in here calling yourself that instead of Sam I would have been more inclined to show you a good time."

Sam winced. They'd tried to seduce Dean using someone with Sam's name? No wonder Dean had pulled a gun. Sam knew his brother had made it a habit to avoid women who shared names with family. Dean had never slept with a Mary, Samantha, Sam or Sammy, and he'd once turned down a Roberta because she went by Bobby.

"Of course," Dean continued, "If you had really wanted my attention you would have brought me pie. I'm an absolute slut for pie." Teal'c turned his head to Sam who gave a little nod. Dean really was.

"Well," Jack drawled, "I can bring you pie, if that's what you really want."

"I'd rather Sammy Swap." God, Sam loved his brother, but there were definitely times where he didn't like him.

"Sammy Swap," Jack echoed, definitely amused.

"Yeah. Seeing as how you'd have to actually go get some pie I figure I'll just save you the trouble and take what've you've brought with you."

Jack stiffened and both Teal'c and Daniel turned to Sam who ignored them intently. "What makes you think I've brought Samuel with me?"

Dean huffed, offended. "He's my brother," he told them as though it was the only explanation.

"Riiiight," came the skeptical reply but Jack forged on anyway. How Dean knew didn't change that he did. "So what guarantees do I have that if I give you your Sam you'll give me mine back in one piece?"

"Seriously dude? You want to do this the long way?" Dean gave his long-suffering "see what I put up with" sigh. "I'm trapped in a tiny room with a gun. You guys are outside with bigger guns. I shoot your Sam you'll probably just shoot me and I'm really not willing to deprive the women of the world this handsome face."

"What makes you think we'll hold up our end of the bargain?" Daniel winced while Teal'c focused on the general's back, but Sam got it. He'd seen negotiations often enough to know that if you were truly going to go through with it you hammered out the fine details, no matter how gritty they would be. Quick promises were empty ones.

Dean reached the same conclusion. "You asked me to trust you. That's what I'm doing."

The general nodded and stepped back.

"Jack, are you sure that's wise?" Daniel asked. O'Neill just gave a half smile and motioned Sam forward.

Sam straightened and pulled his shoulder's back, walking unaided into the room and getting his first look at Dean and his hostage.

Carter, the woman who had shot Dean, was unharmed but obviously pissed.

She was also completely restrained. Her one arm was crossed over her torso, her hand stretched over her hip with the sparkle of a handcuff clearly visible. Her other arm was hidden, twisted behind her back. If Carter tried to pull on either of her hands it would place tension on the other. It didn't help that Dean's long arm had looped under her elbow, holding her body in place as he held the gun to her chin, forcing her to lean back into him.

Dean, on the other hand, looked completely relaxed and was wearing his cat that ate the canary grin. He looked good, healthy. Not like he had been electrocuted, was dying and needed a faith healer to turn things around.

Sam felt a little tension drain out of him before Jack placed a hand on Sam's back. "So how are we going to do this?"

"My Sam comes here and uncuffs your Sam. I give her the gun and you give us ten minutes alone."

"Five," Jack countered.

Dean nodded. "Five then." It was better than nothing and Dean was already pushing things.

O'Neill nodded and Sam felt the hand leave his back. He took short slow strides towards his brother, keeping his hands down. He watched gratefully as Dean shifted around, moving the gun from under the woman's chin so that it pointed directly at Sam's heart. Carter's face clouded in confusion as Sam stopped half a foot in front of Dean and lowered his head while his brother's gun never wavered from its target.

Dean reached out and placed a large hand on the back of Sam's neck. Both boys ignored the way the metal of the cuff dug into the sensitive skin across Sam's throat as Carter's arm remained to Sam's front. Sam heard someone behind him shuffle, his uniform rubbing on itself to make an irritated scratching sound, and figured that whoever had moved had noticed that the gesture was not one of relieved brotherly solidarity. Dean's fingers buried deep into the flesh of Sam's neck, hard enough to bruise, prodding along the spine in search of mysterious lumps and bumps.

When Dean was satisfied it was his brother standing before him and not an extra from The Faculty he pulled his hand back and rested it on his own shoulder. He tapped his fingers to indicate what he wanted.

Sam gave Dean the bitch face, the corners of his mouth puckering in displeasure. Dean lifted his eyebrows and Sam sighed. He moved to stand behind Dean. Behind his brother's back he shed his own cuffs before reaching over Dean's shoulder to shove the key into the cuff restraining his brother.

"Where did you-" Daniel trailed off as he stared at the key. He began patting his pockets and Sam flashed the man a guilty smile. Maybe he had been exaggerating how poorly he was feeling but it wasn't his fault Daniel's outfit had so many pockets.

Beside Daniel Jack reared back his head and Sam knew that he and Dean weren't going to be lucky enough to be underestimated again.

With a twist the cuff jumped free and Dean opened his arms. Carter stumbled half a step forward. True to his word Dean handed her the gun, _after_ he ejected the clip, emptied the chamber and flicked the safety on. She glared at him as she accepted it before stomping out of the room.

Jack sighed as he watched her go before turning once again to Dean. He nodded, soldier to soldier, and pulled the door shut.

The clock was ticking.

x—x-x—x

"What took you so long?" Dean didn't look up as Jack finally entered the room, nor did he pause in smoothing out Sammy's hair. Dean had forced his little brother to lay his head against Dean's legs twenty minutes ago, despite Sam's insistence that he wasn't tired. What really meant was that he didn't want to sleep, to fall back into the nightmares that Sam seemed destined to be plagued by. While Dean could sympathize, he was tired of his brother waking up in cold sweats with screams choking his throat; he had a sneaking suspicion that they were safe. Whether or not anyone else was, Jack, at least, seemed to be friendly. Sam had also mentioned that the floor they were on was the sixteenth and Dean was fairly certain that they weren't sixteen stories up. So unless the dudes after Sam got a written invitation they were probably as safe as they were going to get.

"Had to check on Carter," Jack answered as he set something on the table. Whatever it was it smelled delicious. "Then that pesky blood work finally came in so I had to go listen to Dr. Cam explain. Took her twenty minutes to go through it."

"Oh? And what'd she find? Are me and Sam gonna hulk out on you guys?" Dean asked flippantly even as he felt as cold hand wrap itself around his heart, ready to squeeze.

"Nah." Jack shook his head as he settled himself on the opposite side of the room, directly across from Dean with his back resting on the door. "Besides having the ATA gene in spades, you're perfectly normal. One hundred percent human."

"Oh good. I'm glad we got that all cleared up," Dean grumbled, really not liking where the conversation was headed.

"Your brother, on the other hand-"

"You so much as touch Sammy and I'll bite your hands off!" snarled Dean, his hands hovering protectively over his brother's face.

"Easy there, Tyson!" Jack lifted his own hands into the air, a gesture of peace. "You know as well as I do that if we were going to hurt your brother we would have done it by now but that doesn't change that the NID are out to get him. Now do you want to know why or not?" Dean continued to glare but gave a grudging nod. When Jack was certain the kid wasn't going to interrupt he picked up his explanation. "As I was saying, you've both got the ATA gene, but Samuel's is a bit wacky." Dean frowned at this but remained silent. "Because it's a bit wacky he's all that more important."

Dean tapped the back of his head against the concrete wall of the cell. Either Gabriel had planned this or Sam was just the unluckiest bastard to walk the Earth.

"Why?" croaked a bleary voice and Sam shifted.

Dean's hand rested in Sam's hair instead of pulling back as though burned the way they would have once done. "How long you been awake for?"

"Since Jack entered," Sam confessed, moving Dean's leg and drawing himself up until he was sitting shoulder to shoulder with his brother. The kid still looked like hell but the slight trembles had completely subsided and his coloring had improved. "So Sir," Sam pressed, his determined but respectful, "why is this ATA gene important? Why is mine important? It's got to do something more than determine eye color."

Jack nodded. "Why don't you boys grab something to eat while I explain?" The boys exchanged silent looks and Jack watched an entire conversation take place with head twitches and eyebrows, though he caught the gist of it when Sam huffed and nodded submissively while Dean stood up to grab the food trays Jack had snagged from the mess.

The general waited until both boys were sitting down, food firmly in their laps before launching into an explanation of the Stargate program. The Stargate program had been founded decades ago when the 'gate had originally been found in Egypt. Nothing much happened until Dr. Daniel Jackson wrote his paper on ancient civilizations and aliens.

Jack ignored Samuel's wide eyes, knowing that stopping meant hearing geek speak over the paper, and pressed on, telling about how he and Daniel had been recruited to go through the 'gate and how they totally kicked Ra's ass and effectively ended the program.

Until Goa'uld from a different planet had shown up, shot up the 'gate room and kidnapped a soldier. The suckers were out there posing as Egyptian gods and enslaving planets all across the galaxy, so Jack and Daniel had been called back to go kick more alien ass. Carter had joined the team to help them out and Teal'c had been recruited from the enemy's ranks to help with the Goa'uld problem, which was now mostly under control.

But there were still the replicators to deal with, these little spidery machines that kept building each other out of whatever was available. They were causing the Asgard, the aliens that had posed as Norse gods and were generally neutral to humanity's plight except for when Jack asked really really nicely, some pretty serious problems in a different galaxy. But on top of the replicators there were also the Ori, these super powerful beings who were also running around doing the whole divine thing.

All of these events had led to the search for new tech that was farther away and had resulted in the discovery of Atlantis, the home base of the race that had been responsible for the 'gates in the first place. But the Ancients had pissed some people off and had been wiped out. Many died from a plague, others fled to Earth and had trysts with the locals, passing their genes on to the Tau'ri, and the rest, the vast majority, had ascended, which basically meant that they were these goopy clouds of light that were all powerful but preferred to sit on their asses instead of helping clean up their messes.

But they had left behind their technology and anyone with and ATA gene was free to use it, which meant that only some of the Tau'ri and a very few natives of the Pegasus galaxy were free to use it, which would have been all kinds wonderful if the discovery hadn't also lead to the introduction of the Wraith, who were basically space vampires. So Atlantis was hiding from the Wraith to keep the bastards away from Earth who was fighting off the Ori and couldn't ask the Asgard for help because they were fighting off the replicators.

And just to make things interesting there was a group on Earth called the NID who was constantly attempting to steal alien technology to utilize for whatever it was evil organizations did with advanced tech. Plus certain sectors of the NID had also joined up with a few Goa'uld and were currently a giant thorn in Jack's ass. Their latest scheme had been the blood test flag, the one that had brought Samuel to their attention.

"Basically it sounds like they were spreading a net to catch those who were ATA positive and not involved with the military. That way they could snag them and figure out how to activate the gene in the rest of the world, which would let them play with Atlantis's toys. However, Samuel here has a wacky version of the gene and since the Ancients all poofed out in a light show it looks like the NID took it to mean that your brother's jumped ahead on the evolution scale. The Goa'uld probably think that he's developed some special powers from his ATA gene and will be looking to stick a snake in his head so they can pull the whole 'take over the world' ploy.

"The good news is," Jack summarized, "that they won't kill Samuel here. He's too valuable. They need him alive. The bad news is that he's important enough that they aren't going to back off just because we found you first. Until we manage to take the NID down they are going to be looking for you.

"Now," Jack shifted as he spoke, trying to work out some of his growing stiffness. He really was getting too old to do this sort of shit. "We can get you boys into protective custody. You don't have to come, Dean, but I'm betting that you're gonna want to stick with your brother."

Dean snorted. "Damn straight."

Jack nodded. "We can set you up with new identities in a new city where a whole bunch of your neighbors just happen to work for me and carry guns."

"So you're just going to let us go? After everything that's happened? " Sam asked incredulously. His face was etched with disbelief.

"I have some paperwork for you to fill out and some questions I need answered, but yeah, I'm just going to let you go."

"Cool." Dean smirked before slurping his jell-o down noisily.

Sam gave a disapproving glare. "Dude."

"What?"

"Manners!"

"Pft." Dean waved his hand, and subsequently his fork, dismissively. "We're prisoners in a military base, not guests of the Queen." He slurped down more jell-o, moving his head so he could do so in Sam's ear.

Sam jostled his brother. "You're such a jerk."

"Bitch." The boys glared at each other for a beat. "Can I have your jell-o?" Sam's jell-o moved to the next tray. "Sweet." Dean wiggled the small dish, apparently amused by the foodstuff. He took another noisy bite. "So Johnny, what sort of questions do you have?"

"It's Jack," O'Neill grounded out in irritation. "And I need to know things like how the hell you boys got your hands on all that paperwork."

Dean smirked. "That's it? Really? That's an easy one. Sammy?" He turned to his brother with an expectant eye.

Sam closed his eyes and seemed to gather himself. When he opened them his shoulders relaxed and his face became earnest and serious. "Good afternoon. I'm Special Agent Jobs and this is my partner, Special Agent Gates. We're with the Internal Oversight Advisory and we need to look through your records." Sam paused to wait for an imaginary response. "It's classified." Another pause. "I understand that procedure needs to be upheld, but this is a matter of national security and it's important that you let us do our jobs. Please. Lives are at stake." With the plea Sam's face softened. His eyebrows knitted together in an expression of pained worry even as his lower lip stuck itself out just ever so slightly, his mouth barely open as though he were praying. Worse, his hazel eyes seemed to double in size and shimmer, and for the moment Jack felt like he had been sucked into a Disney cartoon and he was the man running around killing the forest critters.

"Huh." They'd conned their way into the military's darkest secrets? Shit! Jack resisted the urge to rub his temple. This was going to be such a headache to fix.

Dean smirked knowingly. "If it's any consolation we broke into the places where that didn't work. I can give you a list and explain how we got in."

Well, that would help a bit, but still. If these _boys_ managed to weasel their way in from the very outside with nothing more than fake IDs and pretty smiles how the hell was Jack supposed to keep the NID out from where they didn't belong? The NID had real badges and a foot already in the door.

"Any other questions?"

Jack really didn't want to ask anything else. He wasn't certain he could handle the answers. He missed when life was simple and problems could be solved with bullets or by Daniel's geek speak. "Do either of you have secret magical powers?"

The boys echoed twin looks of wry amusement. "Well," Dean drawled, "Fabulous secret powers were revealed to me the day I held aloft my sword and said, 'By the power of Greyskull!' "

Jack lifted an eyebrow in dry amusement. "That was He-Man."

"Was it?" Dean looked slightly confused as though trying to figure out how he could have got that one wrong while Sam snickered.

Jack sighed. "You didn't answer my question."

Dean cocked his head thoughtfully. "You're right. I guess I didn't."

x—x-x—x

Sam and Dean spent nearly a week being trapped under the mountain. Despite the circumstances that had carried them to this point it actually wasn't so bad. The boys had been moved down to level twenty-two, and while they both weren't keen on the idea of being that deep underground, the perk was that the mess hall was on the same floor and that they were given relative freedom to walk around.

Sam spent the majority of his time conversing with Daniel and the archeologist eagerly shared his thoughts. When the Daniel wasn't showing Sam the differences between Latin and Ancient the two were comparing theories on the origins of myths of cultures that didn't have alien gods to explain them away or dissecting the newest theory to have come out in the field.

Dean shadowed his brother for the first two days, but when a growing sense of trust of SGC personnel and utter boredom tipped the scale he ended up first in the gym, then in the shooting range. He was supervised by Teal'c at all times but he didn't mind. The alien made for good company. He may not have said much but he also never told Dean to shut up. Better yet, he had Carter's schedule memorized, ensuring that Dean didn't accidentally bump into her.

When playing with the military's guns became boring Dean somehow found himself in hanging out with O'Neill. The man had decided to chill on base until Sam and Dean's situation was cleared up, partly because he hated paperwork but also because Jack seemed to be the only man that Dean really trusted and keeping him around kept Dean from pulling weapons and taking hostages. The general was down to earth and sarcastic and it didn't take much prodding on Dean's part for Johnny to jump into stories about what he and his team had done.

It was easily the best week the brothers had had since this nightmare had begun, but that didn't mean that they weren't relieved when it was finally over.

"It's gonna be good to see the sky again."

Sam nodded with his brother's assessment. "Open sky and fresh air."

Dean clapped him on the back. "Amen to that, little brother."

The pair stood in the centre of an escort as they waited for the elevator to descend. There were four airmen who were going to ensure that the Winchester brothers made it safely to their destination while three more were going to give the general a ride back to Washington.

Dean shuffled nervously and Sam let his shoulder brush against his brother's. He knew Dean had issues with being underground. It wasn't surprising considering he'd climbed out of his own grave and now that he wasn't sidetracked by anything he had time to dwell on how getting into a little box with nine other guys could go horribly wrong. The only way Sam could really help was through distraction.

"So Jack, are you ever going to tell us our new names?"

"Samson and Dennis Smith." Both the boys cringed in remembrance of the last time Dean had been a Smith, causing Jack to frown. "It's better than Job and Gates. I can't believe you got away with that one."

Dean's grin stretched from ear to ear. "People ain't that bright, Johnny. Sammy here once got away with flashing a bikini inspector ID."

"Seriously?" asked Lieutenant Simmons.

"Dude!" Sam hissed. He was actually glad Dean was talking and not thinking, but being annoyed was the best way to ensure that Dean followed through.

"Oh yeah," Dean relished, rubbing his hands together with the memory. "I told Sam it would work and he was all 'no Dean! This will never work. Will you save me if they catch me?'" Dean imitated Sam in a falsetto. "I was 'don't worry, Sam. It will work. Trust in my awesome.' By this time he was already at the counter and-"

The elevator chimed and they squeezed in. Sam moved to the back, smiling as Dean picked up the story, exaggerating the intimidating presence of the nurse and throwing in obstacles where there had been done. When he finished Jack was frowning intently at the oldest Winchester.

"You do know you can't do that anymore. I can only get the President to pardon you so many times."

"All the more reason to relive the glory days," Dean answered with glee. "For the base we knocked over in Massachusetts we went in as Kirk and McCoy. Even I can't believe we got away with that one. Seriously, who hasn't seen Star Trek? But apparently they hadn't. The gate guard was this big burly-"

Sam winced, tuning his brother out. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work out whatever tension was causing the headache creeping up on him. He'd spent the night with Daniel hunched over a cultural evaluation that SG-20 had filed a few weeks ago. He must have pinched a nerve or something.

The elevator chimed again, releasing them onto floor eleven. Only one more elevator ride until freedom.

Sam glanced at Dean who was listening to Lieutenant Menard describe a ritual that SG-11 had been forced to participate. Captain Hanson then tried to top that story with an encounter SG-9 had had with man-eating plants. By the time they had made it to the first floor O'Neill had told the story of how SG-1 had saved Earth from two Goa'uld ships using hand grenades. Despite them all having heard the story before everyone was suitably impressed.

Sam took three steps out of the elevator before he stopped to rub his temple.

"You all right, Sam?" Sergeant Warren gave Sam a worried look.

"Fine," Sam choked out with a forced smile. "It's just a headache." He straightened and took another step before the world dissolved in pain.

Then he was sitting in the armored van, no idea how he had gotten there. Dean was sitting beside him, telling Captains Raimi and Blasdale about a waitress he had hooked up with in Florida. Menard and Simmons were sitting up front. Menard was driving and adding the odd wry comment while Simmons ignored Dean completely, scanning the road intently.

A soft crack was barely heard over the laughter. Sam glanced up to see the webbed hole in the window and the way Menard touched his bloodied chest with disbelief. He slumped forward and the van veered into the ditch.

"Shit!" Dean grabbed his brother and threw him to the floor, shielding Sam with his own flesh as the van rumbled through the rough turf. When it came to a stop courtesy of tree Simmons bailed out the passenger's side, coming around to swing the back doors of the van open.

Captain Raimi had his weapon out, scanning intently while Blasdale placed pressure on his now bleeding scalp, his eyes thick with confusion. Raimi peered past Simmons, searching for danger. "Did you see them?"

Simmons nodded and brought his gun up, lodging a bullet in Raimi's skull. Blasdale reached for his gun far too late to stop the bullet from tearing through his temple, leaving only Sam and Dean alive.

"Step away from him." Simmons motioned Dean to move with the gun, keeping it trained on the older brother. Men in full tactical gear appeared behind the airman, keeping their weapons on Sam. Not that it really mattered. Neither he nor Dean had been provided with a weapon.

Dean looked at dead soldiers before bringing his glare up to Simmons. "Why?"

Simmons shrugged. "Better benefits." He pulled the trigger.

"No!" Sam shouted in denial as Dean stumbled a step back, only falling after two more bullets tore through his chest.

Sam scrambled over to his brother, his _not_ dying brother, and held Dean as blood seeped out his mouth.

He hushed Dean as he attempted to talk, to sputter out a joke or worse, a goodbye, and placed his hands on the wounds, trying to maintain the pressure of Dean's lungs so that he could draw in breath.

Hands were pulling, dragging Sam out of the van even as Simmons crawled back in. He watched as the soldier lifted the gun, aiming at Dean's forehead.

The crack of the air was almost as shattering as Sam's scream.

Then Sam was back in Cheyenne Mountain on his knees, gasping and struggling weakly against whoever held him.

The familiar arms tightened their grip and Sam let himself go slack, his face falling into Dean's neck as his brother whispered soothing things.

"Where the hell is that crash cart?" Sam recognized it as Jack's voice, but he couldn't figure out who was hurt.

"I told you he's fine!" Dean snarled and pulled Sam closer. "It was just a seizure." Oh. They were talking about him. Well. Crap.

"Seizures don't equal fine!"

"M'okay," mumbled Sam, moving to extricate himself from Dean's arms. His brother eased back to grab Sam's elbows and help lift him from the floor. As soon as he was standing Sam brushed off Dean's hands, having a much easier time shaking off the after effects of the vision since had manage to grab a few nights good rest.

Jack looked Sam over before frowning. "I don't care. Infirmary. Now."

Dean opened his mouth to protest and Sam grabbed his wrist. Dean deflated and Sam gave an apologetic smile, knowing that he was going to owe Dean forever for sticking by him as his freaky nature once again got them into trouble.

x—x-x—x

Jack stood by the door to the infirmary. Dr. Cam had called him to let him know the results of Samuel's tests. By all medical standards the kid was fine. The EEG, PET scan, CAT scan and MRI all came back negative. No tumors, no weird wave readings, and no freaky alien radiation were hanging around. Samuel was perfectly fine if you ignored the fact the kid had gone catatonic for over thirty seconds.

Jack had come down to try and figure out what the hell was going on. Dean knew something. That was for certain. He'd been too quick to catch Sam, too calm while his brother was unresponsive in his arms to not have done that before.

Jack's plan had been to charge in and demand to be filled in, but the raised, irritated voices of the Winchesters floating through the door caused him to pause. It wasn't really eavesdropping. It was recon, which was totally different.

"-elling him. Do you want to end up as a science project?"

Samuel's voice was quieter than his brother's but it carried well. "It's not a choice of what I want. Dean, they're already here."

"Which is all the more reason to shut up!" Scuffling feet accompanied the exclamation and Jack knew that was pacing. The guy seemed incapable of sitting still when riled.

Samuel let out a soft breath. "They already know and they're pissed off. They're going to kill you, Dean. They're going to kill you and take me and stick a fucking worm in my brain. We need the help and I don't think we're ever going to get better offer. General O'Neill-"

"Is a bureaucrat!" Jack winced. He had hoped that Dean was beginning to trust him.

"General O'Neill is a good man. We took him hostage and he had us pardoned by the President. He could have just as easily tossed you into a cell to rot and handed me over to the closest doctor. He didn't. He's on our side."

The pacing stopped. "No, Sam. He's not. It's our side because it's just us. It's always been just us."

"Really?" Samuel's voice brimmed with amusement. "How about Bobby?"

"That's an exception!"

"And Ellen? How about Jo and Ash? Rufus? Jim? Caleb? Joshua? And what about Jefferson?" There was a pause. "Castiel?"

"Fuck you, Sammy." There was definite heat in Dean's tone. "You don't get it. This guy has the power to-"

"What? Turn me into meat on a slab?" Samuel let out a hysterical laugh. "Dean, that's where I'm going to end up if we try to keep trying to do this by ourselves!" There was a strangle sob. "God Dean. I don't want one of those things inside me."

The rustling of fabric indicated that a manly hug had ensued. "Fine." Dean's voice was strained with worry. "We'll tell him. I don't like it but we'll tell Johnny."

Seizing the opportunity Jack slipped through the door. "Tell me what?"

The boys broke their hug, obviously embarrassed about being caught in the display of emotion. It only took seconds for Dean's shame to morph into anger and suspicion, with him taking a protective stance between Jack and his brother.

Samuel fidgeted nervously on the bed, his fingers picking at invisible flecks on the white sheets. "I have visions of the future."

That… was not what Jack had been expected. "What?" he asked stupidly.

Samuel shifted and Dean inched closer to his brother. "My 'seizure,'" Sam air quoted, "was a vision. Of the future."

The kid didn't have any tumors. Maybe there hadn't been time for one to grow. "How long have you been having them?"

Sam shrugged. "Since the NID's been after me. The first one I had was a few days before they broke into my apartment, hence why I wasn't there." So Samuel had been having visions for a long time. Looked like the kid was going to stay tumor free.

"And the NID knows." Dammit.

Sam nodded. "They bugged Dean's phone."

"What did you see?" If this was anything like the Jonas situation it was nothing good.

"The NID were going to ambush our vehicle and kill everyone." Jack didn't miss the inflection on everyone, or the way that Samuel's knee moved to brush against the back of his brother's leg.

"Damn." Jack slid into a chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How the hell did they find out?"

"Lieutenant Simmons works for them."

"What?"

Sam gave an apologetic shrug. "Simmons works for the NID. In my vision he shot Raimi, Blasdale and-" Samuel cut himself off as he swallowed, his face pale.

Jack rubbed a hand over his face. Now everything made sense. The kid could see the NID coming. He could probably see what they were planning to do to him, which explained how the boys found out about the Goa'uld and how they'd managed this on their own for six months.

"I can't offer you the type of protection you need."

Dean took a step forward, his hands balling into fists. "You sonuvabitch!"

"I'm not abandoning you." Jack sighed wearily. "Look, if they've gotten into the base there is no where I'll be able to hide you that they won't know about and they aren't going to stop. A Goa'uld that could predict the future would be unstoppable. They know that and because of that they are going to pursue you to the ends of the Earth."

"Fuck!" Dean screamed, his foot launching an empty chair across the room.

Sam whispered softly, running a hand through his hair. "So what do we do?"

Jack tapped his fingers on his knee before a sly smirk slid across his face. "They're going to chase you to the ends of the Earth, so why don't move you further?"

The brothers blinked. "What?" they asked in unison.

"How do you boys feel about Atlantis?"

* * *

**Confusion Clear ups.**

Smith- Dean was Dean Smith in an episode where he had his memory wiped. He played a day trader who was on a low-everything diet. It was an unpleasant experience.

Jonas Situation- Jonas Quinn, who was a member of SG-1 for a year, developed the ability to see the future but also picked up a brain tumor. Tumor was removed and visions vanished.


	4. Let the Wookie Win

AN-Huge thanks to dhrachth for beta-ing this piece. Thanks for all the reviews. I've tried to respond to all of them personally but if I missed a few people, my bad. It's been a really rough few weeks. Thanks to all the silent people as well. I recently read an author who used a chapter to rag on people for not reviewing. I know you are out there because you favorite and I want you guys to know I love you as well. While reviews are super cool I appreciate EVERYONE who takes the time to read this. K. Enough mush. Onto the story!

* * *

**Puddle Jumping**

Chapter 4

Let the Wookie Win

* * *

When Doctor Elizabeth Weir, the civilian head of the Atlantis expedition, was first handed a sealed paper envelope by Colonel Steven Cadwell she found herself experiencing a feeling that she had thought had been trained out of her during her first year in the Pegasus galaxy: surprise. The feeling had only deepened when the Colonel had stiffly informed her that whatever lay in the envelope was for her eyes only by order of General O'Neill and was not to make it into the electronic databases until she received orders otherwise.

Despite her piqued curiosity the envelope remained unopened. The discovery of Project Arcturus on Doranda took precedence over everything as Elizabeth juggled the complicated task of assigning appropriate personnel, approving equipment requests and ascertaining that the scientists actually knew what they were doing. It was in the last task she failed, drawing her into a battle of wills against Colonel Cadwell and Dr. Rodney McKay, both of whom were pushing for the further study of the technology despite the cooling body of Dr. Collins. At the end of the fiasco the Pegasus galaxy was one solar system short after the weapon exploded. Only luck in the form of the Daedalus had saved Rodney and Colonel John Sheppard from being destroyed, but the same couldn't be said for the relationship between the two men.

With a single event Elizabeth went from running Atlantis to coping with it. Though John was courteous and professional in his displeasure, and Rodney, surprising everyone, took the criticisms aimed at him with a degree of maturity no one had known the scientist possessed, it did not stop a rift from forming between the civilian and military personnel. Injury rates from accidents and carelessness climbed amongst both sides as they antagonized and studied each other for weakness instead of working as team. It was only a matter of time before the injuries upgraded to fatalities.

It was Radek Zelenka, Rodney's second in command, that approached Elizabeth with a solution both Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex flanking him in support. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at the unorthodox solution proposed, but she approved it anyway. Her only plan had been to pull her hair out one handful at a time.

Despite the simplicity of the scheme it had taken meticulous planning on the part of everyone involved. Food that matched Rodney's restricted dietary requirements was stored in obvious sight, all electronic outlets through which Rodney could access the Atlantis mainframe were disabled and the locks on the doors were all replaced with old fashion bolt technology so that John couldn't just ask the city to let them out. Ronon had acted as a lure for John, claiming he had found a new room to spar in. while Radek had told McKay that a new machine had been discovered that needed Rodney's personal touch. By the time John and Rodney realized it was a setup the doors had slid shut, trapping the men together. They were succinctly informed that they would remain there until they mended their fences.

They remained trapped for an entire week.

It wasn't until the rumpled pair emerged with sheepish grins and mumbled apologies that Elizabeth finally let out a sigh of relief and was able to actually concentrate on her duties above and beyond the babysitting of personnel. For the first time in forever she didn't dread the silence of her office and the gathered paperwork didn't seem like it was an insurmountable obstacle. Everything was finally under control.

This was why she winced when she spotted the sealed envelope in her desk, weeks after she had received it.

With a soft prayer to the heavens Elizabeth opened the package, gently dumping its contents onto her desk. Two thin personnel files and a post-it note were all that the envelope had held.

She picked up the note first and read it out loud. "They're your problem now. Have fun."

That was hardly comforting.

Elizabeth eyed the files warily. With the grit and determination that had seen her at the top of this expedition, she grabbed the nearest one and flipped it open. It didn't take her long to sift through it, reading what the results of a modified training regiment obviously meant to prepare an individual for Atlantis. There was no sign of specialization with the individual having participated in training in weapons and combat, engineering, computer sciences, medical sciences, languages and so forth. The results were shockingly inconsistent. Flipping through the second file revealed the same tests and inconsistency. Both men had performed with military efficiency in the combat training, while File A showed exemplary results in engineering and chemistry, above average in practical medical proficiency and had absolutely no computer aptitude. File B had performed admirably in languages and medical knowledge, had revealed a sporadic knowledge of botany and chemistry, and had failed miserably in regards to engineering. A note had been made by the computer sciences. _He hacked the FBI._

Elizabeth took a careful sip of her tea before flipping onto the medical results. They were scant. There was no list of allergies or previous injuries, no family history. Height and weight had been deemed unimportant and age remained a mystery. The only note that had been made in the file was that both had the natural expression of the ATA gene. The strength of that expression was not remarked upon.

The final page in each file contained the transfer papers, providing Dr. Weir with the date of the newest arrivals. She felt queasy as she noted that it was with the Daedalus's next arrival, meaning that Elizabeth had less than a week to solve this new problem and no time to arrange contact with Jack and demand an explanation. She had no doubt that he was the one behind this. Even though Steven hadn't mentioned that the orders came from Jack, Elizabeth knew.

Who else would have labeled the files as H. Solo and C. Bacca?

x—x-x—x

"Come on, come on!" Dean rocked forward as he impatiently rapped his fingers on a nearby console. The dude working it shot a glare Dean's way but wasn't suicidal enough to open his mouth as the older Winchester worked out his irritation.

"Don't worry. It'll be soon." Sam reached out to give his brother a comforting touch on the elbow. Dean stilled, twisting to glower at Sammy as he brushed the hand away before resuming his agitated internal litany.

Two months. He had been trapped for two freaking months by the American goddamn military. Two months of redundant military drills, constant aptitude tests and learning which crystal thingy went where while a freaking doctor immunized him for intergalactic plague, all while trapped under the goddamn mountain because it was the only place where the fucking NID couldn't get close enough to get their hands on Sam. And then, just to make everything extra peachy they'd gone and stuffed him on a freaking spaceship for three fucking weeks with absolutely nothing but an asshole that looked like his dead grandfather from a previous life to distract him from the fact that he was on a glorified plane in a fucking a vacuum filled with killer aliens.

Sam understood but Dean really wished he didn't. Sam had spent the entire trip running around helping Dean, despite the fact that he would have rather been in the observation deck watching as hyperspace zipped by in strands of spun candy color, or chatting with the little gray alien that didn't wear pants. Instead his brother carried meals to their cramped quarters and sat by the bed, reminiscing on the best parts of both their childhoods while Dean clutched at the thin mattress waiting for the inevitable explosion and/or flood of man-eating aliens.

But the explosion never happened and the aliens didn't come. The ship arrived at the city of Atlantis without incident and everything was fine and dandy save for one tiny detail.

Dean needed to get off the Daedalus and he needed to get off it _now. _

"You boys ready to beam down?"

Dean took in a sharp breath to avoid snarking at Colonel Caldwell. The man was an asshat but he was the asshat who had the power to keep Dean trapped on this junker and a wide enough vindictive streak that he just might do it.

"We're ready," Sam replied with a soft smile and a beseeching look. Caldwell scowled at the lack of a 'sir' but Dean and Sam weren't military and the only 'sir' they had ever had in their lives had been John Winchester. They intended to keep it that way.

"Hermiod, beam us down."

Dean closed his eyes and let out a breath as he felt the tingle of a transport beam dance across his skin. When he opened them it was to his first view of Atlantis.

The room they had arrived in was large and a blessed relief from underground army bases and spaceships. It looked to be a loading zone of some sort. People in color-coded uniforms milled about, carrying boxes under the watchful eyes of men and women with datapads, creating a whirl of carefully orchestrated chaos that was broken by the occasional clang and curse as some poor sucker tried to haul more than he could carry.

The room itself was light, airy even, due to the numerous sky-high windows that were fitted on the one wall. Through them Dean could see rising spires and hints of ocean. The entire place seemed to be made out of the same etched metal with an occasional colored spot.

Somehow it was what he was expecting. That weird futuristic look that Sci-Fi's always aim for tempered with the reality that people go nuts in plain metal rooms.

Tactically the structure seemed defensible. There were ladders in the walls and random nooks and crannies everywhere. Glowing panels created shadows where there should be none, creating places to leave traps for the unwary. The walls, being metal, were made of material that a Winchester couldn't be tossed through. They would also stand up to any gun that Dean could get his hands on.

Dean approved.

He heard Sammy's gasp before he let out one of his own. Something warm was pressing against his mind, rubbing up against it like a cat looking to be petted. Emotions and sensations not his own were sliding over Dean, filling him while remaining distinctly other. Dean wanted to fight against it, to rally and curse and toss some salt while Sam babbled in Latin, but he couldn't seem to muster the willpower to deny the touch which felt a bit like a mother's love.

Outside of Dean's head the room seemed to go mad. Lights that had been off exploded into illumination and the scream of moving parts filled the air. People cursed and dodged as lifeless equipment stirred restlessly like guard dogs woken by the patter of nearby footsteps.

The ecstatic touch against Dean's consciousness died down to a feathery hint of glee and the room seemed to reset itself.

"Má bůh!" A man with flyaway hair threw up his arms in frustration. With narrowed eyes he rounded on Colonel Caldwell and his entourage. "You!" He pointed with a hiss, stalking across the room like an electrocuted cat. "What have you done?" His words were lightly peppered with a Czechoslovakian accent. He took in Caldwell's confusion before focusing his attention on the men, no, boys that flanked him.

Caldwell was too professional to roll his eyes but Dean could sense that he wanted to as he answered the irritated man. "What do you mean Dr. Zelenka?"

The scientist's attention snapped back to the ship captain. "Everything was going fine. Then you show up and bam! Readings go crazy. Massive power surge. Now when Rodney gets back I must explain or I will spend week working with Kavanagh. I don't want to work with Kavanagh. So you explain." The 'or else' remained implied, which was probably best. Caldwell didn't seem the type to respond well to overt threats.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

Radek Zelenka narrowed his eyes. He pointed an accusatory finger at Dean. "You!"

Dean turned, checking to see if the subject of the scientist's ire might be behind him. Having no such luck he pulled out his best innocent grin, which just increased the intensity of the scrutiny. "Yeah?"

"You have ATA gene!" The frazzled man turned to Caldwell. "He has the gene. They both have gene!"

"Yes. I mentioned that I was transporting gene users in my report-"

Zelenka cut off Caldwell with a wild wave. "No! You said you were bringing down gene user. You did not say you were bringing down mini-Sheppards!" The brothers shared a nervous glance. "When you say gene user we read, we think, oh like Dr. Beckett or Dr. McKay. We think everything will work fine. When we see mini-Sheppard we monitor power levels! We hide shiny object that may explode with a thought. We block off heavy equipment and we hand the mini-Sheppards reports about thinking off all the time."

Sam watched the small man's animated speech with terrified fascination while Dean cocked his head in consideration. "Why can't we think on?" asked the oldest Winchester.

Before he had finished the sentence the sound of whining machinery filled the room. Arms moved, lights flashed and people ducked.

"Think off. Think off!" screeched Dr. Zelenka. The room ground to relative silence, the crew stopping in their efforts so that they could watch the unfolding drama.

Dean smirked. "That is so cool." The presence in his mind gave a chirp of agreement.

"No! This is disaster! He is not allowed near science labs until Rodney give okay! Člen určitý hovno JÁ mít až k snést co!" The trio stared with varying of amusement at the ranting man. "Out! Out now!" He ran a hand over his face in frustration, knocking his glasses askew.

Not being one to surrender a tactical advantage, Caldwell retreated. He began the journey through the winding hallways of the city of Atlantis. Unfortunately the Winchesters followed him.

"Did you see that? I turned that stuff on _with my mind_." Dean couldn't help the spring in his step as he pictured the room flaring to life.

"You knew that was going to happen," Sam reminded his brother. "We covered it at the SGC. Remember? Daniel? Music box?" They'd spent hours with the tiny device, turning it on and off, adjusting volume, and changing the song.

Dean snorted dismissively. "Yeah, but that was a music box. Did you see the crap in there? I think there was a crane. And I turned it on. _With my mind_. Do you know what this means?"

Sam gave a pained sigh. "What does this mean?" The question was asked without curiosity or inflection. He knew what it meant.

"I'm Batman." Dean puffed out his chest and the conversation lapse.

There was blessed silence for a few seconds.

"Sam?"

"What Dean?" Sam answered absently, concentrating on memorizing the way.

"Why didn't you turn everything on?" Dean gave his brother a sideways look.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Because unlike some people I have an attention span longer than a kid on sugar and I paid attention when Daniel told me to think off."

"Huh." Dean fell silent in a moment of contemplation. "So you're Robin?"

"I'm not Robin!"

"Sorry Batgirl." Dean smirked. "Didn't mean to get your panties in a twist."

"You're such a jerk!"

"Bitch."

Cadwell grounded his teeth. It was going to be a long walk.

x—x-x—x

When Elizabeth looked up she was surprised to see Steven standing in her doorway with a dark scowl. Inane conversation floated over his shoulder and had Elizabeth not been keenly aware of their absence she would have suspected Sheppard and McKay of tag teaming to annoy the man.

"Dean, there is no way Gumby could take on the Fantastic Four even if Pokey was backing him up!"

"Yeah, but if Pokey_ and_ Nopey helped him-"

"Johnny can set himself on fire."

"Yeah, but Goo can spit balls of goo and take him out."

"How do you even know who these characters are?"

"Remember Amy Marshall? Well, this one time she was babysitting her nephew so-"

"Dr. Weir." Steven's greeting drowned out the vapid conversation as the colonel slid into her.

Elizabeth gave him a smile edged with exhaustion and worry. "Colonel Caldwell. As much as your company is always a pleasure I'm afraid I don't have time for casual conversation today. Sheppard's team ran into an interesting situation off world and they're overdue for a check in." Which either meant that the team had found technology that would aid in defeating the Wraith or they were engaged in a battle that would potentially decide the fate of the galaxies. It could really go either way.

"This won't take long." Caldwell entered the office brandishing a thick envelope that he had pulled from one of his numerous pockets. "General O'Neill sends his regards. He also sends gifts." He turned to the young men who were still conversing.

"But if sharks _did _live in salsa-"

"There are no such things as salsa sharks!"

"But if there were, do you think Batman Shark repellent would work against them or would it be offset by the tamales?"

"Winchester!" Caldwell barked and two people slid into Elizabeth's office. Caldwell gave Dr. Weir a pitying look. "These are now yours." With that the man practically fled the office, leaving Elizabeth alone with the latest edition to the Atlantis team.

"Huh," the Gumby fan watched Caldwell's retreat. "He handled that better than I thought he would have."

Elizabeth stared at the two men, the two boys, Caldwell had passed off to her with absolutely no explanation. The shorter of the two, though that said little considering they dwarfed practically anyone else on base, continued to watch the colonel's retreat before turning to Elizabeth wearing a self-satisfied smirk. It fit his boyishly pretty looks well. Combined with his vivid green eyes, short spiked hair and the devil may care attitude he oozed Elizabeth could almost imagine that she was staring at a younger version of John. It was easy to imagine that the boy's tan had come from surfing and skirt chasing in the California sun. She didn't need the gauntlet he had thrown at her feet to know that he could, and would, cause her all manner of grief.

The second of the pair was taller. Much taller. It was possible he was taller than Ronon. But unlike the former Runner this boy didn't exude violence and mystery. Despite his height he was unassuming, one of those people who could slide into the background and remain unnoticed for the duration of the party. His massive height was tempered by a slight hunch of his shoulders and dark expressive eyes were partially hidden by waves of long, dark brown hair. His face was all angles and plains to his friend's childish curves and his lanky limbs seemed to stretch forever. He looked more like a poet or a starving artist than someone who belonged on a military base.

Together they were a complete set: one dark, the other light, one serious, the other playful, both sexy as hell.

In other words? They were Trouble with a capital 'T'.

But Elizabeth was no stranger to trouble. She had Rodney McKay on her staff. If she could handle him she could handle anyone.

Pushing her worries about Sheppard's team and her frustration at Caldwell's unexpected retreat to the back of her mind she slid a diplomatic smile onto her face. "Gentlemen," she nodded at the pair, "please have a seat."

The boys looked at each other before the shorter one shrugged and collapsed into one the seats where he proceeded to sprawl out, stretching himself in all directions and sliding down, much like an errant teenager.

The taller boy's lips twitched, though in amusement or frustration Elizabeth did not know, before smoothly gliding into his chair. Unlike his companion he kept himself contained to the space, folding his hands on his laps and placing his knees together. Instead of slouching he sat up straight, the slight hunch disappearing from his shoulders.

"Ma'am." They spoke in unison.

She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her desk as she netted her fingers together. "I'm Dr. Weir. I presume that you two are the mysterious Mr. Solo and Mr. Bacca that I've heard so little about?"

The shorter one grinned, sitting up slightly in his chair as the other's eyes flashed in annoyance, showing Elizabeth which one was clearly in charge. Sure enough it was the short one who answered her query.

"I'm Dean Winchester. The Wookie is my little brother Sam," he drawled, punctuating their introductions with a lazy finger point.

"Dean and Sam then," she nodded in acknowledgement. "As glad as I am to see any new personal to Atlantis I must confess I am curious. Being personally recommended by General O'Neill is a rare occurrence and being assigned under false identities is unheard of. What makes you two so special?"

Dean grinned like cat. "Johnny took a shine to us after we kidnapped him from a cocktail party. The joint was stuffy as hell but the cocktail weenies were delicious. Those things are seriously like crack. We should have snagged a plate for the road," Dean trailed off, reminiscing about finger foods.

Elizabeth just blinked. "You kidnapped General O'Neill."

"Yep," Dean nodded.

"Yes ma'am," Sam answered, breaking his silence. "To be fair we did think he was an enemy and we didn't actually hurt him."

"The man even said we salvaged his evening," Dean chimed in.

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, wishing that she had read Jack's letter first. "I'm going to assume that there is a story behind these events that make them make sense."

"Yep."

"Yes ma'am."

She stared at the boys for a few moments. "Are you going to tell me that story?"

The boys looked at each other before turning back to her. Dean gave a half shrug. "There isn't much to say. Sam donates blood. NID chases after Sam. We kidnap Johnny. Johnny ships us here."

"Right," Elizabeth nodded, pretending that that qualified as an explanation. "Unfortunately for you two I haven't assigned you positions as of yet. I need to talk to my heads of staff," and read Jack's letter, "and they are all currently off world. Until suitable positions have been found, I ask that you familiarize yourself with Atlantis and our procedures."

Elizabeth grabbed her data pad and began flipping through it until she found a map of the city. She spun the device to show the boys. "These areas," she pointed to where the science labs were, "are completely off-limits until a senior personnel member declares you competent in Atlantis procedures. It's nothing personal. We've had too many mishaps with untrained ATA users." She noted Dean's guilty grin but didn't comment upon it.

She pointed to a different area. "This is the mess. It is open around the clock so feel free to visit whenever you need to. Over here is the infirmary. After we conclude here you will need to visit there for the standard tests and immunizations."

"Actually," Dean interjected smoothly, "that will be a problem."

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "Oh?" She kept her tone mild.

Dean shifted his position, abandoning his sprawl in favor of a posture similar to that of his brother. "Yes. General O'Neill has left instructions that all medical treatment for me and Sam is to be handled by Dr. Beckett and staff chosen by him. Since Dr. Beckett is the head doctor here I figured that he's one of those 'off world' people you were talking about earlier."

Elizabeth nodded amenably, determined to read Jack's letter the moment the boys were out of view. "I'll handle the situation when Dr. Beckett returns. Until you've had a proper medical examination I must ask that you remain confined to your quarters here and here." She tapped the rooms with her pen, indicating the separate wings.

"No."

"No?" Elizabeth was torn between anger and curiosity. While she was used to having her authority challenge by both John and Rodney, both experts in their own fields, to have some new recruit who wasn't old enough to grow a beard do it so blatantly was another situation entirely. She was tempted to tell Dean that she was in charge and that he could deal with room assignments the way everybody else did, by sucking it up.

However, curiosity won over as she took in not just Dean's countenance but Sam's as well. While Dean looked incensed, glaring at the data pad as though it had threatened his masculinity, Sam looked… afraid. His shoulders had begun to hunch again and his hands were flittering in his lap like trapped birds. His one leg had shot up from the floor and his booted heel was now resting and the seat of the chair with the rest of him as he leaned his entire body towards his brother.

In response Dean had shifted himself forward, his smirk vanishing completely to leave an expression that John had given Elizabeth when he thought her decisions were going to get someone killed. "No. Me and Sam need to be in the same room."

"The same room?" she echoed. "Most siblings jump at the chance for their own space."

"We're twins," the boys answered in unison.

"Seriously?" They didn't look like twins, though that occasionally happened. More importantly they didn't act like twins. There was a clear power dynamic that screamed older and younger.

Sam's lips twitched. "We get that a lot."

Elizabeth tapped her pen against the table, considering. Had she been Colonel Caldwell or Colonel Sumner she would have just ordered them to accept it in order to exert her authority and show these boys just who was boss. As it stood she was currently experiencing that sense of sinking that arose only when she was horribly unprepared for the reality that she was facing. Dean was wearing the same look John got when he had already decided his course of action. Talking to Elizabeth had gone from a necessity to a formality performed for her benefit.

Elizabeth sighed and began typing on the data pad. She was no fool. This was not a fight she was going to win but if she didn't push it she also wouldn't lose.

"There," she flipped the pad towards them and pointed to another pair of quarters in a different wing. "Policy dictates that you both must have separate quarters. These rooms are adjacent and you are welcome to use them how you wish."

In his chair Sam visibly relaxed, his legs sliding back down to the floor. Beside him Dean surveyed the new location. He looked up, emerald eyes locking like lasers onto Elizabeth's stormy blues.

Dean smiled. It wasn't a smirk or grin or a leer but a genuine smile filled with warmth. "Thank you."

Elizabeth felt herself smiling back like a goofy schoolgirl, certain that she had accomplished something even if she was not exactly sure what it was.

The moment broke and Elizabeth shifted in her chair, sliding back into a more professional demeanor. "If that is all I suggest you boys make yourselves comfortable until Dr. Beckett returns. Sergeant Stackhouse will show you where you need to go."

"Excellent!" Dean clapped his hands together then pushed himself out of his chair like a child dismissed for recess. He was out of the office and searching for Stackhouse before Elizabeth had the chance to contact the Marine.

Sam waited until she finished her radio conversation before standing. "Ma'am?"

"Yes, Sam?" Elizabeth looked at the younger of the pair with puzzlement, wondering what it was he needed to say out of his brother's hearing.

"Thank you for switching the rooms around. You may later wonder what it cost you but the answer is nothing. Dean isn't going to take it as a sign of weakness but as one of respect for the people you lead. You showed him that you understand that just because you tell him something doesn't mean he will listen and that you see him as more than an object to order around." Sam cocked his head, giving an impish grin. "It also saved you the headache that Colonel Caldwell had to endure for the past three weeks."

"That bad?" Elizabeth asked, reflecting on Steven's swift retreat.

Sam gave a soft chuckle. "I don't think he'll ever shake the nickname of Colonel Codger."

x—x-x—x

Carson Beckett desperately wanted a glass of scotch and he wasn't dreaming about the bottle that he shared with Rodney when the scientist was raving about his minions. No, Carson wanted a glass from his personal stash.

The bottle of Glenfiddich1977 Vintage, single malt, had been aged in Olsoro sherry and bourbon casks to perfection, easing of the burn of the liquid with an aromatic flavor that was tinged with hints of dark chocolate. The brew had placed gold at the International Wine and Spirits competition and a single bottle sold for hundreds of pounds. The fact that his mother had given him two was a testament to how much the woman loved him. He owed it to her to not share the bottles with tasteless heathens who would shoot the precious amber instead of sipping it.

But even with careful management of the liquid, Carson had still almost finished the first bottle, with only a sixth left swirling in the bottom. In his defense the first year had been hard with the possibility of the Wraith finding them at any moment and the constant fear of never being able to send a message home, never mind return. The night after Rodney's team stumbled across the nano-virus that wiped out five team members and almost took the Head Scientist himself had claimed a quarter of the bottle to ease Carson's nerves as the geneticist finally admitted just how close of a call it had been.

Today had been just as bad.

Zaddik was dead and with him all his knowledge about plant interactions with the human and Wraith body. Ellia was dead, gone the sweet girl who had been born Wraith as well as a potentially willing test subject whose participation could have advanced Carson's research by years. The retrovirus to cure the Wraith now had the confirmed potential to make them much more dangerous, turning them more Iratus bug than human, and to top it all off Colonel Sheppard's wound, inflicted when Ellia had tried to feed on him, had healed itself. While others might be quick to cry miracle, Carson had seen too many sour to trust the newest developments to be a good thing.

Which was why he was denying himself. He was going to need a clear head because despite what the Colonel claimed there was no way the man was 'fine' and Carson wasn't going to trust anyone else with cleaning up his own mess.

A gentle knock on his office door interrupted his brooding. "Dr. Beckett?" Marie called. "Sergeant Stackhouse is here with new recruits. He says Dr. Weir wants you to handle their evaluations personally."

"Thank you, Marie. I'll be there in a wee bit." She disappeared and Carson indulged in a few more moments of silence before donning his lab coat and heading out to meet his newest patients.

He spied the sergeant standing by one with the beds with two strangers, a smile on his face as he regaled them with one of his off world adventures. It eased Carson's heart to see it. Stackhouse had been deeply affected by the death of Calvin Markham. The men had formed a strong bond when they had aided Sheppard in the rescue of Colonel Sumner. It was nice to see that Stackhouse was finally letting go of some of his grief.

The sergeant didn't acknowledge Carson's presence as he entered the room, too caught up in telling of one of his many battles with the Wraith. His hands waved animatedly and his eyes shone as he narrated the battle, lost in the telling of the story.

Carson cleared his throat, cutting the thread of the tale.

"Doc!" Stackhouse grinned sheepishly. "I didn't see you there."

Carson smiled benignly. "I noticed. And as fascinating as your story is I am going to have to ask you to finish it later. I need to speak with your audience alone."

Stackhouse pursed his lips, obviously displeased. "Dr. Weir said I need to stay with them. Atlantis can be a dangerous place."

Carson nodded. "Aye. It can. If you insist on staying with them I can always arrange for you to visit with Dr. Nieves until I'm done. From what I hear you've fallen a bit behind on your immunizations. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to remedy that."

"I'm sure the infirmary is a safe place to be. You can just radio me when you're finished. Bye, Doc!"

Carson let out a small chuckle as he watched the Marine bolt from the room and then turned to greet his newest patients. "Hullo. I'm Dr. Beckett, the Chief Medical Officer of Atlantis. You must be the Winchesters?" There were twin nods. Carson matched the faces to his information, tagging the one sitting on the bed as Dean. Sam was standing close to his brother, shuffling about nervously. "I've been told that I'm to personally handle your care, which is a wee bit unusual. Why is it that you lads are to deal just with me, if you don't mind me asking?"

The boys shared a look before Sam held out a bundle of papers that Carson hadn't noticed he'd been holding. The doctor took them silently and began to examine them. His eyes widened in surprise as he skimmed the SGC's medical findings on the young men. Both strong gene users, both extremely healthy, but Sam's genetic variation was unprecedented.

"Who all knows about this?" He indicated the file.

Dean gave shrug. "On Earth? Everybody. Here? Nobody but you and Johnny wants to keep it that way."

"Johnny?"

"General O'Neill," clarified Sam.

Dean rolled his eyes, as though it should have been obvious. "He also wants to keep this out of the official records. No electronic copies. If you need to record something you do it on paper. If you need to consult you do it with the SGC under the file name of C. Bacca."

"The longer we keep it quiet here the more time General O'Neill has to deal with the NID," Sam added quietly.

"I understand." Carson looked down at the sheets again. His own palms were sweating with excitement at the implications of Sam's genetic makeup and he was someone who had regular access to some of the strongest gene users in the galaxy. Had the NID been able to get their hands on Sam it would have been a major boon for them and a blow to the program.

Carson addressed Dean, "I take it that the reason I'm in charge of your care is to provide a bit of a smoke screen." The young man nodded grimly. "Right." Carson slipped back into his office, returning with a clipboard and some blank paper. "All right. We have a variety of tests performed on all new recruits. They're standard procedure and used to ensure that you didn't track anything into the city and you aren't sporting an injury or disease that you don't know about. I know you were all tested before you left but the equipment we use here is far more advanced than anything on Earth." Carson skimmed through the files, reading the notes that had been left by others.

"It also says here that you are required to have monthly brain imaging scans. Can you tell me what that's about?"

Sam shifted on his feet nervously. "General O'Neill seems to be under the impression I'm prone to tumors."

"Can you tell me why he would think that?"

Dean looked at Sam before turning back to Carson. "No."

Carson started, surprised and a little annoyed with the answer. "As your physician it is necessary that I have all the information before I proceed with any form of treatment."

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Then we don't do the scans."

Dean shifted on the bed. "Sam," he growled.

"Dean." The two glared heatedly.

"You're having the tests done."

"No. I'm fine." Sam crossed his arms stubbornly as his face morphed into a pout.

"You might not stay fine!"

"Yes I will!" Sam insisted stubbornly.

"Yeah! Cause you'll be getting the damn scans!" Dean yelled, pushing himself off of the bed. "Right Dr. B?" He turned to Carson as though daring him to disagree.

"Aye, we'll do the tests," Carson quickly agreed. Dean's brilliant smile was met with Sam's dark scowl. "I'd also like, with your permission of course, to run a few of my own." Twin glowers met the suggestion as Dean placed himself in front of his brother, his arms hanging threateningly at his side. "Or not."

"Or not," Dean agreed and the tension in his shoulders relaxed a bit.

Carson bit back a sigh and glued on his smile. He desperately wanted a drink.

x—x-x-x

Sam waited for the door to slide close behind Stackhouse before he poked his irritable brother. "Are you ready?"

Dean brushed away the offending finger. "Ready to sleep," he grumbled irritably. He made his way towards the closest bed and flopped himself down on it.

"Oh. Well then." Sam said lightly. "I guess I'll just have to go by myself."

"Go where?" Dean asked into his pillow.

"Out."

Dean twisted to study his brother. "And how do you plan to do that, geek boy? We've got a guard at the door and I don't think us beating the shit out of him our first day here would go over well."

Sam pretended to consider it. "No. It wouldn't. Which is why he will never know we left."

Dean propped himself up into a sitting position. "Sammy," he narrowed his eyes, studying his little brother, "what's running through that freaky head of yours?"

Sam's face folded into a dimpled smile. "Follow me." He made his way past the bed to the outer wall. A door that's existence wasn't obvious slid open with a thought, leading out to a sweeping balcony.

"We have a view?" Dean stepped up to the rails, taking in the dark blue sky with unmasked delight. Sam chuckled, causing Dean to look at him suspiciously. "What's so funny, Gigantor?"

"It's not just a view, Dean." Sam pointed to the balcony beside theirs. "It's an escape route."

Dean laughed. Not a chuckle or that haunted sound that emerged from his lips when he was beyond offended, but the clear sound of humor not tinged by stress or anger. Hearing it eased an ache Sam hadn't known he had been carrying, so when Dean lifted an arm to muss Sam's long locks he didn't put up more than a token protest.

Balcony hopping, as Dean had taken to calling it, was an unsurprisingly slow form of travel. On top of the whole risk of falling and leaving a very ugly corpse behind there was the additional risk of waking up the room's occupant. Not that most of the rooms were occupied, but it would only take one person to ruin the gig. After the first close call the rest of the trip had been made in relative silence, Dean managing to limit himself to only the occasional Batman reference.

When they had finally calculated they were far enough from their quarters they ducked into an empty room to slip into the hallway. From there they wandered down the hallway, ducking down a different route whenever the sound of footsteps could be heard.

In no time at all they found themselves sitting on the edge of a pier, staring at the night's sky in an open space for the first time in three months. The only thing that would have made the moment better would have been a case of beer.

And maybe some fireworks.

x—x-x—x

**Confusion Clear up**

(I used internet translators for translations. Sorry for hurting the Czechoslovakian language.)

Má bůh-My God

Člen určitý hovno JÁ mít až k snést co.- The shit I have to put up with!

Salsa sharks- Clerks reference. Find it on youtube if you care.

Sam and Dean Cannon height-According to the mug shots Sam is 6'6" and Dean is 6'3". Ronon is played by an actor who is 6'4". So yes, Sam is still tallest.

Glenfiddich-That's all true. Apparently the International Wine and Spirits competition is a really big freaking deal. The brew won back in 2003

Fireworks- see Dark Side of the Moon (season 5 of Supernatural)


	5. New Kid Blues

AN-not my best chapter. It's been a really crappy month. Sorry it's late, but here you guys go. There have been some questions and yes, this is set during the episode of Conversion in season 2. I bumped up the rating because Dean's mouth got the better of me, and I have a gory chapter planned out. So yeah. Here she be for better or worse. Big thanks to Dhrachth for beta-ing.

* * *

**Puddle Jumping**

Chapter 5

New Kid Blues

* * *

The Winchesters were lying on their backs, the sweaty ocean air cooled by the deepening night. Sam was stretched out, his arms tucked behind his head with his ankles crossed. Dean's arms were laying spread at his side with his palms curled up to face the sky, as though he had been making a snow angel and got tired of flapping halfway through.

The two sat in silence, listening to the waves lap against the city. They stared at the stars and the occasional cloud that eclipsed them as it wandered through the night.

Dean tried to pretend the metallic chill seeping into his spine was the hood of the Impala, that he and Sam had pulled over to celebrate a job well done. One where no one had been injured or maimed and all the civilians had been fished out in one piece. It was hard though, when the stars above him were not his stars at all. It made Dean feel a little sad.

Sam was probably thinking the same thing, but geekier. Had Dean asked Sam probably would have said something epic and poetic about how the stars being different represent the final stages of their transition from the previous life to this one and that having them change finalized the idea that things would never be the same because it undercut that bullshit quote of 'standing under the same moon even though we are apart.' Dean snorted. Sam was such a girl.

"What's so funny?" Sam rolled onto an elbow, propping himself up so he could look at Dean.

Dean tried to shrug but laying on the ground it looked more like a nervous twitch than anything else, "Just thinking."

"Oh," Dean didn't need to see Sammy's face to know the mischievous smile that was sliding across it. "Here I thought that rotting smell was seaweed."

Dean gave the air a tentative sniff. It did smell like something had died. "I just thought you'd shit your pants again."

"Real mature, Dean."

"And yet you don't deny it."

Sam grumbled a weak girly insult and Dean smirked. Sam rolled into a sitting position to stare at the reflection of the night sky and the city in the ocean.

Another dark cloud ghosted over the foreign sky.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Do you regret it?"

Dean winced, knowing that this was the lead in to chick flick prime time. He evaluated his options. He could answer the question, either seriously or with a joke, and be sucked into the emotional vortex of his little brother where he would be brutally confronted with either his or Sam's emotions.

Or he could toss his brother in the ocean.

It was close, but knowing Sam, if Dean did toss him in the ocean he'd be eaten by an alien guppy. Then that that Weir chick would figure out they'd snuck out of their rooms and Dean would spend the rest of his stay cleaning toilets or whatever it was people crapped in here. Dean made a mental note to ask Stackhouse about that. It could be important.

In all honesty Dean didn't mind the whole girl talk thing as much as he used too. Maybe it was because being a bleeding heart here wasn't going to get him eaten by a werewolf. Maybe it was because he understood that if John Winchester had decided to talk about things instead of practicing his own form of rage therapy Sam wouldn't have gone to college and not phoned for two years. Maybe it was because if Dean had spoken to Sam about Hell and about hurting and how fucked up everything was his brother wouldn't have gotten sucked into the demons' and angels' plot to start the apocalypse.

No matter what the reason for the change, it didn't alter the fact that Dean actually wanted to know where Sam was with everything that had been going on. They hadn't had a chance to get into the touchy feely stuff since Sam's visions had flared up again and Dean knew they had to be freaking the kid out even if he wasn't showing it.

"You mean eating that bean meat goop we had for lunch?" Dean finally asked. Just because Dean was willing to get into this didn't mean Sam needed to know.

"No. That was an obvious mistake." Overhead the stars twinkled. "I meant do you regret coming with me?"

"Dude? Seriously?" Dean shot Sam an incredulous stare. "You can't even cross the road without needing me to save your ass. Do you really think that I would have let you cross the galaxy by yourself?"

"That's not what I meant." Exasperation filled the night air and Dean could almost hear Sam scrub his hands through his hair. "I meant letting Gabriel do his… whatever. Following me _here_."

"Come on, Sammy. Where else was I going to go? Heaven?"

"Well, yeah."

Dean let out a derisive snort. "Dude, we've been there and it sucked."

"We had angels trying to maim us. Extenuating circumstances. Besides, Ash seemed to like it. I bet he'd have helped you. You could have been with everyone, forever. Mom, Dad, even Jo. Bobby would have shown up eventually. You could have had peace, Dean. And once again you gave it up for me. You're always giving up what makes you happy for me."

See? This is why Dean let chick flicks happen. Because his little brother was an idiot.

"Sam," Dean shifted, propping himself up until he was sitting next to Sam, shivering as the wet breeze cut through his shirt to slide against his skin. Still, he stared at his brother, waiting until Sam eyes had locked onto his before making his move.

Then Dean slugged him in the chest.

"Ow!" Sam bitched, rubbing at his shirt, but he didn't have time to say more as Dean grabbed his chin, wrenching his face so that Sam was forced to stare in his eyes, their foreheads mere inches apart.

"Listen up and listen good cause I am only gonna say this once. You. Are. My. Brother. For Christ's sake, I went to Hell for you-" Sam's jaw wiggled to stammer out another apology. Dean thrust up hard enough that Sam's teeth clicked together. "-And I would do it again in a heart beat. Fuck Heaven. And fuck Mary and John." Sam's eyes grew wide and Dean nodded grimly. "Yes. Fuck them both. Mary sold you to a fucking demon before you were even born and then tried to ignore it, tried to pretend that nothing was going to happen when she _knew_ better. John was an absolute psycho who dumped all his shit on us, the entire time keeping a perfect little family hidden on the side so when he needed to go pretend he could, while we were holed up in a hotel not fit for roaches waiting for dad to come home for Christmas. He was a liar and a hypocrite and he either drove away or got the people close to him killed.

"Yeah, you and me had our fights and yeah, you fucked up. But so did I. And why wouldn't we? We've had Heaven and Hell fucking with us our entire lives, trying to push us into our destiny and pull us apart. It didn't work. Even when you ran off you came back. When I drove you away. You always came back. Sometimes it was 'cause I was dragging you back, but you came.

"It's you and me, Sammy. It's always been you and me. Then Gabriel showed up and made it so it will always be you and me. Eternity with my little brother. Not one trapped in memories doomed to play over and over, but forever with my actual little brother. And you think I gave up what makes me happy?" Dean slid his hand up, moving it so it went from cupping Sam's chin to resting lightly against his cheek, thumbing away the tears. Dean's were left for the wind to take. "For being a geek boy you can be pretty stupid. Besides," he grinned, "I can score intergalactic tail. How sweet is that?"

"More like an intergalactic STD," Sam murmured, leaning into Dean's touch as his brother pulled him into an embrace.

The two of them sat like that on the dock, resting within each other's presence until the first traces of a new day peeked over the horizon.

x—x-x—x

Something was wrong.

John knew it, but he didn't know how he knew because nothing felt wrong. In fact, he felt amazing. Alive. Tingly even. Everything about him was buzzing like he was flying, soaring through the air with purpose as a gale of bullets circled him even though his feet were firmly on the ground. His senses were on high alert. Smells were as vivid as color and colors were like touches. He was high on his own body.

He'd also kissed Teyla. Forcibly. It had felt great, her body pressed under his, but it also wasn't really a 'John' thing to do. She had tasted so sweet, all sweat and fear, but he remembered that he wasn't supposed to make her afraid. They were like family.

But if she was truly family then she should have felt honored by that kiss. She wouldn't have tried to push him away. She would have squirmed underneath him in pleasure, not anger. She wouldn't have fought him, rejected him.

That bitch.

"Hey, Colonel Sheppard!"

For a moment John wanted to spin and snarl, but only for a moment. The voice wasn't the Bitch's. It wasn't a threat or a challenge. Its owner didn't need to be taught a lesson. So John rewarded the voice with a lazy grin. "Hey Stackhouse. What brings you to this part of the city? Finally sign up to let Teyla kick your ass?"

Stackhouse laughed. "No sir! I value my life. I'm actually playing tour guide today." Stackhouse smiled and stepped to the side, presenting two figures to John. "Meet the latest addition to the team."

John took in the figures being presented. The first thing he noticed was that they were big, tall. One was willowy, with lithe limbs that he handled as they flitted gracefully about him like wings he had been born with. The other had the bulk of a fighter, of a predator. Broad shoulders with arms loose at his side. Ready to strike. Ready to fight.

Ready to kill.

Both had watchful eyes. Sharp eyes that were looking and seeing instead of the dull glaze of eyes that imagined the world. Bird eyes.

They were like him. Predators. Killers. No. Not like him. They were strange, new. They didn't know that this was his city.

They would learn.

"Hey," John pulled his lips across his teeth as he stretched out his hand. "I'm Colonel Sheppard."

The short one stepped close, taking the hand. "I'm Dean." They shook and John could feel the bird bones screaming to be crushed, to be broken.

Not yet. They had a chance to learn. His job to teach them. Not yet.

"Dean," John rolled the name on his tongue. Dean watched. His eyes were the wrong color. Should have been gold. Weren't gold.

John held his hand out to the tall one, smiling, ready to shake. Ready to test. Ready to see if this birdie was a hunter or just scavenged off of Dean. Hand out. Ready. Waiting.

Dean flopped a wing against the tall one. "Tall, dark, and silent here is Sam." There was a growl. A growl that belonged to a cat, not a hawk. It was a screech, a warning. A marking of territory.

The hand fell back to his side. It wasn't shaken by Sam. It was shaking with fury.

No right. It was his city. His! Dean had no right to claim, to play alpha. Atlantis was John's home. John's kingdom. John's sky. There wasn't room for any more birds.

"I see you guys aren't in uniform yet. What division are you with?" John tilted back, leaning away. If he leaned forward he would touch them. It was too soon.

Dean smiled easily. It was tooth and claw and his voice was sweet like poison. "We aren't. Dr. Weir wanted to review our files before officially placing us anywhere."

"Ah. That's strange. Most people have a placement before they arrive."

Dean's eyes glinted. "We aren't most people."

They weren't.

"Huh," John drawled. "Well, let me know how that goes for you." He clapped Dean on the shoulder, squeezing to teach. Dean didn't flinch. Little bird wasn't afraid of pain. Not yet, anyway. "I'd better head back to my quarters. Teyla and I finished up and I'm beginning to smell a little ripe. Take care of the new guys, Stackhouse."

Stackhouse smiled like nothing was wrong. Wise choice. "Yes sir!"

"Sam," John nodded. "Dean." He walked off leaving only that warning. There would be more. Just…

Not yet.

x-x—x-x

Pleading fatigue from the abrupt schedule change of spaceship to planet side the Winchesters cut their tour with Stackhouse short. The moment the door slammed shut, giving the brothers a moment alone, Dean whirled on Sam.

"Did you see that? Tell me you fucking saw that!" Dean rubbed a hand over his shoulder, wincing as he touched a newly forming bruise and paced across the room with the heavy steps he usually saved for hospital worries.

Sam sat weakly on the bed, his own hands carding through his hair. "Yeah, Dean. I saw." It had been like looking in a cracked mirror.

"Fuck!" Dean screamed, launching a metal garbage can across the room. In his head gentle fingers tried to sooth his temper. Dean waved a hand as he mentally swatted them away. He didn't have time to figure out what the hell was playing with his brain and he certainly didn't have time to be calm.

Sam folded his hands, resting them in his lap as he set his elbows on his knees to lean forward. "So what do you think?"

Dean snorted, sagging bonelessly against the wall. "I think we're fucked, Sammy. That's what I think. Or did you miss the part where the commanding military officer is acting like he's high on-" Dean jerked, cutting himself off as a he slammed a fist into the cold steel of the city.

"Like he's high on demon blood?" Sam finished.

Dean pushed off from the wall, moving to sit by his brother on the bed. "Sam," Dean leaned over so his shoulder touched in apology. "I didn't mean it that way."

Sam shrugged. "I know, dude." And he did. "Doesn't mean it isn't true."

"Yeah," Dean pressed harder against Sam.

Sam took a shuddering breath. "His eyes were the same. They were like mine when it got bad, when I'd had too much. The only thing I could think about was finding a demon and blasting it back to Hell." He leaned into Dean, taking comfort in his brother's presence and the silvery presence in the back of his skull.

"Shit," Dean leaned over, shoving his head between his own legs. "Man, I thought he'd be cool." He sat up and kicked a foot out. "First Dad, then God, now New Dad. Why do we always get stuck with deadbeats?"

"I don't know Dean," Sam shook his head. "I think we're missing something here."

"Well, yeah. We're missing a proper dad. Didn't I just say that?" Dean grumbled and flopped back on the bed, glaring at the ceiling.

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I mean I think this is new." He twisted, folding one leg on the bed and using the other to keep him balanced so he could meet Dean's eye as he spoke. "John's service record reads like he's an action hero. The black marks from his record are all from when he bucked authority to try and save lives. He managed to last an entire year as the military leader out here when they were stranded and alone without screwing up, so what now? What's different?"

Sam shook his head, answering his own question. "Nothing. Nothing has changed. I think that whatever is happening to him is new," Sam paused, licking his lips, "and I don't think that it's necessarily his fault."

"So you're thinking what? He accidentally got himself hooked on bad mojo?" Dean's face was skeptical.

"Or he's under the influence of an alien device or disease." Dean still looked unconvinced, so Sam poked his brother. "In the first year here they came across an alien mist that could control perceptions of reality, a nano virus that caused the brain to explode and telepathic aliens that suck your life out through their hands. You'd know this if you'd bothered to read the reports!"

"And deprive your geeky ass of the research?" Dean's tone was teasing but his eyes were serious as he mulled over the new information. He sat up and Sam could tell that his brother had come to some sort of conclusion. "All right, so we don't know what's going on but we know that it's something which may or may not be John's fault. Either way there isn't jack shit we can do about this. Unless you think an exorcism would help, I say we avoid him and let the experts figure this out." Dean stretched out his arms, his shoulder cracking. "Sound fair?"

Sam seized his opening. "And if it's not his fault, what are we going to do?" Dean opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off as he saw the corners of his brother's lips quirk. "Go ahead, make a joke, but you aren't getting out of this. _We _need to decide how to handle this. Are we going to tell him he's our dad?"

"Excuse me, princess. Who pissed in the royal cornflakes this morning?" Dean grumbled, shifting as he sat. "Sorry if I don't want to do the whole long lost relative drama. Sorry if I'm not looking for a new daddy. _Sorry_," sarcasm dripped from the word like ice cream from a cone on a hot summer day, "if I think that it's fine being just you and me."

"Okay."

"What?" Dean eyed Sam suspiciously and once again his little brother rolled his eyes.

"I said, 'okay.' I wasn't trying to launch a family bonding campaign. I just wanted to know where you stood, man." Dean looked flabbergasted and Sam couldn't help but feel slightly proud. It wasn't often that he took Dean by surprise, though he was surprised that Dean was surprised.

"That's it?" Dean's brows knitted together in confusion. "No big speech on how a girl needs to know her dad?"

Sam swatted his brother. "No, jerk. As you said, it's fine being just you and me."

"Damn straight, bitch!" Dean replied with enthusiasm but Sam could see the rays of relief creeping across his face. "So how'd you get John's service records, anyway? I asked and they wouldn't let me take a glance."

It was Sam's turn to shift. He could feel the soft heat of flush creeping into his face. "I, uh, sorta didn't ask."

Dean blinked. "You _hacked_ the SGC?" Sam nodded. "After we were pardoned?" Sam lowered his gaze and stared guiltily at his boot.

He knew that he'd risked all the good will General O'Neill had been sending their way, but he felt like he needed to know. He needed to understand the man who was, at least in this reality, their father. While he wasn't looking for emotional acknowledgement from Sheppard, part of Sam needed to understand the man, like trying to figure out where a lost puzzle piece would fit without actually filling the gap. He didn't know if Dean would get that, though. He was expecting his brother to be a little pissed.

Instead of yelling, Dean laughed and reached over to ruffle Sam's hair. "Devious, little brother. Seems I'll make a proper Winchester out of you yet."

x-x—x-x

Ronon had spent seven years alone and on the run. Seven years of never speaking to anyone, never trusting them not to hand him over to the Wraith the first chance they had.

The Lantians would call that paranoia, but they were soft. Spoiled. They were children who had found themselves in the middle of a war. Ronon admired the determination with which they threw themselves into fight he knew they didn't understand. Still, they didn't get that every enemy they let walk away would be one they would have to face later, except then the enemy would be stronger, carrying a grudge, and fully aware of what the Lantians were capable of. They trusted first, only drawing back when that faith had been broken. They left themselves open to betrayal and many took advantage of that, yet they still approached people with a naivety that Ronon had never known. They moved through the world with unabashed curiosity that even the harshness of the Wraith couldn't destroy, risking their own lives to answer questions that Ronon and his people had never even thought to ask.

They were strange, different from anyone that Ronon had ever met on such a fundamental level that there were days when the Runner questioned his own sanity, wondering if perhaps his mind had just snapped under the pressures of life or maybe he'd eaten a toxic plant that was rotting away his brain. This line of reasoning was usually quickly abandoned. There was no way his own imagination could come up with the antics of these people.

But as odd and as foolish as these people were, they had saved him. They had invited him to become one of their own, sharing what they had without asking for more than friendship in return. They had given him a home, and while it would never replace the one he had lost it was something worth protecting, and since the Lantians didn't truly understand how dangerous the world was it fell to Ronon and Teyla to provide that protection.

It was that need, that unspoken vow, that had Ronon staring at the men who had just entered the mess hall.

For a moment he thought they were allies that Dr. Weir was trying to woo. It took him a moment to place their form of dress as Lantian Casual, which was unusual in itself. Despite the now open trade routes, Earth clothing was still hard to come by. It was bulky, not a necessity, and the Daedalus only had so much space. Casual dress was saved only for very special occasions, and there were few to be had.

But while the clothing identified the strangers as Earthlings, the way they moved screamed otherwise. Ronon could tell that the Lantians didn't see. Even the man who had led them in was oblivious to the way the strangers' eyes swept through the room, taking in potential threats, exits, and weapons as naturally as their lungs drew breath. The Lantians didn't see the way their shoulders hung loose, not in a state of relaxation but in a state of readiness, so that there would be no tension to slow down the drawing of a weapon.

But the Lantians also weren't practicing their usual acceptance, either. There was a definite tension in the air, a resentment of the strangers' presence. They were given wide berth as they stood in line for food, and the tables around them remained empty as they consumed their meal with only their guard for company. Ronon could tell by the way the leader touched his knife as he ate his pudding that he was well aware of the silent hostility in the room.

Suddenly the stranger looked up, his eye catching Ronon's. The man threw the Runner a smirk and a wink before turning to his companion, whispering something that made the other man roll his eyes. The exasperation of the gesture was undercut by a fond smile.

Ronon would have continued to observe if things had just stayed like that. Despite his time on Atlantis the Runner knew he didn't fully understand the ways of these people and until he had a firmer grasp of the situation any action he could take could cause more harm than good, despite his best intentions. Teyla would be likely to know who these people were and how they should be handled. At the very least she would help him watch them.

"Hey, Herskowitz!" The call cut through the cafeteria like a war cry and Ronon noticed that a few diners took it as a cue to leave, some of them dumping their unfinished meals before scurry away as though McKay were on a rampage.

The man guarding the strangers turned at the sound, his face splitting into a grin as he saw three men coming near to his table. He called greeting to the leader. "Rousseau! I thought you were headed off world today."

Rousseau shook his head, falling into a seat as though he'd been invited. "Everyone's grounded until this shit with the colonel gets figured out." The men who had flanked Rousseau moved in. One claimed the empty chair by Rousseau while the other settled himself in the free chair by the taller of the strangers. "But maybe that's not so bad." He nodded a chin at the strangers. "Winchesters, right?"

"Like the rifle." The winker smirked like it was a private joke.

Rousseau leaned forward. "You got first names to go with that?"

"You show me yours I'll show you mine." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm Sam," the other one cut in, his tone soothing as he tried to defuse the situation, "and this is Dean. Dean, this is Captain Eliot Rousseau."

"And how the fuck did you know that?" Rousseau snarled.

Dean's face contorted into a mock pout. "Awe, someone sad 'cause our clearance is higher?"

"I wasn't talking to you, pretty boy."

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Sam's fingers subtly brushed against his sleeve. None of the Marines noticed. Ronon frowned as the two made eye contact, his brows furrowing as Dean closed his jaw and eased back into his chair. The Runner didn't fail to notice that the knife Dean had been caressing earlier was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

Sam dropped his hand before he turned. He gave a dismissive shrug. "I read all the mission reports. Your team did some great work with the Nepheens. Single handedly evacuating an entire planet?" Sam shook his head in amazement. "That was incredible. Your name happened to stick." Sam offered a shy smile tinged with a bit of hero worship.

"That's right," Rousseau growled. "My team and I have what it takes because we fucking earned our position here."

"Eliot, calm down." Herskowitz cautioned, finally catching on to his friend's true motives for approaching.

"Shut up, Tim. I spent years working towards a position under the mountain. Do you have any fucking clue what I had to survive to earn a trip to Atlantis? I worked my way here! We all did. But you," he spat the words. "You two show up out of fucking nowhere and when you get here there is nothing for you to fucking do. So what, Daddy pay for you to go sightseeing or did you suck your way here using that pretty little mouth of yours?"

Sam cocked his head to the side. "You think I'm pretty?"

Dean frowned thoughtfully. "I dunno, Sam. I think you can do better."

Rousseau slammed his hands down on the table. "You think this is a fucking joke? You have no idea what we do out here, what we've sacrificed out here!"

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me about sacrifice!" Dean snarled, standing and leaning over the table. "Don't you fucking dare. You have no idea who we are or what we've done and frankly it isn't any of your fucking business. Go back to playing soldier, Eliot, because a detective you are fucking not." Dean straightened. "Come on, Sam."

Sam moved to stand, but the Marine sitting nearest to him grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into the chair. "We ain't done talking to you yet," the Marine drawled in a heavy Southern accent.

"Get your fucking hands off him before I rip your lungs out." Dean's voice was quiet and for a moment Ronon found himself wondering if the man could actually do it. Then he remembered the missing knife and all doubt vanished.

"Whoa!" Herskowitz stood, waving his hands passively. "Everyone back it off a notch! Anyone here gets hurt and it's gonna be my head that rolls!"

"Please," Rousseau waved a hand dismissively. "Nobody cares what happens to these faggots."

"Yeah," Deep South drawled. "They're sharing a room. Bet they're fucking each other up the ass every night."

Dean leaned back and crossed his arms. "Sorry Alabama. Everyone but your parents got the memo that incest was icky."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "At least they furthered the cause by showing the danger to the offspring." Sam's smirk barely flickered into a wince as the man squeezed his wrist, but Dean still noticed it.

"Let go of my brother."

Ronon was moving before the idiot Marine had finished uttering "make me."

He launched himself over the two tables that were between him and the Marines, landing at the shoulder of the man holding Sam. Dean's step forward slid smoothly into a defensive stance as he took in Ronon's full height and state of dress. The guy wasn't counting on Ronon being friendly.

Wise decision. "Friendly" wasn't a word people used in regard to the former Runner.

Everyone else at the table had also spun to see who had entered the equation. Herskowitz had paled at the sight of the larger man, pushing out of his chair and scrambling to get to the safety of the sidelines. Rousseau looked amused. The silent one looked perturbed, as though he hadn't seen Ronon in the mess hall when he agreed to be part of this. Knowing the Lantians he probably hadn't.

Deep South hadn't bothered to look. Sam had attempted once again to stand and the Marine had let the guy almost rise before tugging on him hard enough to send him into the table. The kid didn't shout as he slammed into the metal edge hard enough to move the damn thing several inches but it obviously had hurt. His brother had fisted a hand onto Sam's shoulder, ready to pull Sam behind him in case Ronon decided to attack. Looking at Sam's tray, which was also missing cutlery, Ronon knew that the only reason Deep South still had a good grip was because Sam was giving him a chance to walk away with his fingers intact.

"Hey." Deep South stiffened at the sound of Ronon's voice and Sam hissed, the grip on his wrist tightening further. "Let go."

The moment the grip loosened Sam was off the floor and behind his brother, though that had to do more with the way Dean pulled him back than Sam scurrying into a retreat.

"Ronon," Rousseau's smile was anything but cordial. "What brings you over to our side of the world?"

"No manhandling civilians."

"Or what?" Rousseau rose from his seat, crossing his arms. He was a member of the original expedition and he refused to be cowed by Ronon's presence. "You're going to tell Sheppard on me? The man has bigger concerns than these dickweeds. Of course, you could go see Colonel Cadwell. I hear he's in charge until this blows over." Dean paled at the statement but didn't shift his stance. "I hear he has a bone to pick with one of these boys." Rousseau raised an eyebrow. "Or are you planning on making me play nice?"

"I'll tell McKay." Ronon wasn't above tattling. Rousseau may not have been afraid of Ronon, but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid of anyone. The best way to defeat an enemy was to go for his weakness, and everyone who had been on base for more than a week knew that you didn't fuck with McKay in the city. On the battlefield the man was practically useless, but in Atlantis? There was nothing he couldn't and, when properly motivated, wouldn't do. McKay had destroyed a solar system out of curiosity.

Rousseau held his hands up in surrender. "All right. Cool your jets there. We were just having a little fun. No harm, no foul." He gave a slimy smile worthy of the Genii before slinking off, his cronies following him.

Once they were gone Ronon turned on Herskowitz. The man was a fairly new recruit and still hadn't set foot off world. The only threatening quality about him was his inexperience, which was the most likely thing to get other people killed. "Clean up the trays. They're coming with me."

The man shook his head and Ronon found himself giving the man points for having guts. "I can't. Sergeant Stackhouse assigned me to watch them."

Ronon stared.

Herskowitz licked his lips nervously.

Ronon continued to stare.

"Uh, maybe I'll go clean the trays up?"

Ronon continued to stare.

"Right," Herskowitz mumbled. "I'll go clean up the trays." He managed a dignified turn before he breaking into a scuttle to get to Ronon's abandoned table.

The Satedan turned on his newest charges, wondering what to do with them and just what the hell he had been thinking hen he intervened.

x—x-x—x

Dean was walking shoulder to shoulder with an alien. A real life alien. Sure, Teal'c was one but the dude had spent way too much time with Earthlings. He'd lost his intra-galactic freshness. There had been a less acclimatized alien on the Daedalus but Dean had been in no shape to track the thing down to stare. Besides, this one wore pants.

The entire scenario made Dean want to slow dance. Or something.

For being an alien the dude wasn't overly strange, though Dean knew he shouldn't be disappointed. The reports he had read –okay, skimmed (he couldn't let Sammy be the only one who knew what was going on, but he still wasn't a geek) –had said that most alien life was human. The thing that had tipped Dean off about his new friends relationship status to Earth was the puzzled look he'd shot Winchester when he'd asked him to teach him to perform jedi mind tricks. It was like dealing with Castiel all over again. At least Ronon was wearing a kickass outfit that didn't include a trench coat. It was all… alien… and stuff.

Okay, Dean didn't give a shit about Ronon's outfit. It was the giant ass gun hanging by his thigh that had caught Dean's eye.

It was also said gun that had convinced Dean to leave the cafeteria with his newest friend.

Ronon hadn't pulled the thing and started waving it about while cursing in an exotic tongue, which once again left Dean with a vague sense of dissatisfaction, but instead had tried to use his hypnotic stare to do… something. Whatever it was, it clearly hadn't worked.

Dean had snarled about not being a princess in need of rescue and Ronon had shrugged and told him he didn't want Sheppard's men dying while the colonel was off duty. He'd then offered to take the boys to the shooting range because he didn't have anything else better to do. What could Dean say? Dinner and a movie was a lethal combination and he was a sucker for flattery. He had even been willing to give back the knife he'd slid up his sleeve, making Sam do the same. His little brother had put up a token resistance, but that had more to do with the fact that if he hadn't the alien probably would have figured out they'd snagged their forks as well.

Sam was absolutely lethal with a fork.

"So," Dean started. Yeah, Ronon seemed all badass and shit but the dude was quiet. Like, eerily quiet. Unless it was to soon be interrupted by gunshots and explosions Dean didn't do silence. "Alien, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Any advice for surviving on Atlantis?"

"Don't screw up and I won't have to gut you."

Dean took in a deep breath and began slowly counting to ten. That's what Larry, the coordinator of Dean's anger management program had set. Count to ten to give yourself time to think of a better solution as you calm down. Focus on the numbers before you focus on the anger.

Dean made it to three.

"What the _fuck _is everybody's problem?" He slammed the side of his hand into the nearest wall, relishing in the pain it sent up his arm.

"Dean." _Calm down._ It was written all over Sam's face even as his wide eyes tracked the alien, waiting for a reaction.

Dean wanted to laugh. Considering the situation he was calm. He was fucking zen. "No, seriously? What is it? Is there a secret handshake we were supposed to know or does everyone here just get off on being a dick?

"I get that this is a exclusive joint and me and Sam's invites got lost in the mail, but we're here and you are all gonna just have to learn to fucking cope with it because we don't have anywhere else to be. So fine. Have your pissy little bitch fit but I swear to God that the next person who decides to do more than just talk is going to find my foot shoved so far up their ass they'll be tasting leather. You catching me Conan, or do I need to doodle you a cave drawing for you to figure this out?"

Ronon tilted his head. "You done?" Dean gave a nod. "Good. Shooting range is this way." The alien headed off with out a second glance.

Sam walked up to Dean, leaning in close. "Feel better?" he asked sarcastically before hurrying off to follow their guide.

Dean couldn't help but grin. He did feel better.

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X

**Confusion Clear Ups**

Sam and Dean in Heaven- The Darkside of the Moon, season 5

McKay blowing up a solar system-Episode Trinity, season 2.

Sentient Fog-Home, season 1

Nanovirus-Hot Zone, season 1

Slow dancing Aliens- Tall Tales, season 2 of supernatural


	6. Beer and Bug Hunts

AN- First issue-handled.

Second, Fic Recs: Because I can. "**Red Tape" by **Like-A-Raven-14 on ff is an awesome parody oneshot on an alternative way of stopping the apocalypse. It's hilarious and made me laugh out loud. And "in the closet" by Marlowe97 also on ff. Its on outsider's POV about being trapped in a closet with Sam and Dean. A little violent, a little serious, and a little funny it is a great way of presenting the boys through a strangers eyes. A long oneshot.

Third: This might be the last chapter of 2010. I have Uni exams coming up and then am traveling for Xmas, so no promises on posting more for this story til the new year. That being said I am putting up an Xmas themed one shot that serves a pre-tag to this story. It's short, it's rough, but I like it. It also doesn't feature any SGA peeps so it won't be listed as a crossover, which means you have to come to my main page to find it.

So Happy Whatever You Celebrate and Enjoy.

* * *

**Puddle Jumping**

Chapter 6

Beer and Bug Hunts

* * *

Ronon was a perfect bastard. The dude wasn't dumb enough to fall for a hustle, wasn't trusting enough to let Dean even touch the fancy gun he wore, and didn't have the decent sense to be a complete asshole so Dean could hate him.

They'd killed an hour and a bunch of ammo at the firing range. Ronon had hit every target with every weapon he had touched dead on while Sammy hadn't hit a single damn thing. To be fair he hadn't touched any guns either. Dean hadn't planned on being fair until he'd noticed the way Sam kept cradling his wrist, and the hints of darker bruises peeking out from under younger brother's sleeve. After that every target Dean hit was part of the face of the backwater hick who had damaged his Sam. And Dean hit all his targets.

He just didn't always aim for what he was supposed to.

Dean had pulled the same at the SGC for a while, until Johnny had whispered in his ear that teaching Dean to shoot would have delayed the trip to Atlantis. Dean's scores had doubled and his funds had halved. It hadn't been a huge loss. After all there was no point in hustling if you couldn't spend the money and not being able to leave the base seriously crimped Dean's shopping habits. Here he didn't have a stake in making the shots. There was no way they were going to give Dean a job with a gun and the locals didn't seem like they'd be inviting Dean to the weekly poker match. As long as he lost once in a while and never won by too much Dean could keep the gig up for weeks.

Target practice had been fun, but like all good things it came to an end far too soon for Dean's liking. One of the pitfalls of intergalactic outposts was that things like ammo were tightly rationed.

After they'd been tossed from the range Ronon had dragged them halfway across the city. Dean hadn't paid much attention to where they going. It wouldn't have really mattered if he had. Shit like that always got all twisted in his head until he figured it out for himself. Sam was the walking map of the family. The kid could trudge through a building blindfolded and draw a floor plan.

Sammy was freaky like that.

Which was why Dean was the only person surprised when he found himself back on the pier where he and Sammy had spent the night doing manly bonding. Ronon crossed the dock to lie on his stomach. He reached a long arm down, feeling along the metallic edge before grabbing a cord and heaving. He let out a soft grunt as he pulled at the cord on last time, a netted bag jumping from ocean onto the dock.

Dean grinned as he took in its contents. "The fishing here always that good?"

Ronon gave a smug smile back, reaching into the bad to pull out a can of ocean-chilled beer. "It's Sheppard's." He gave the can a toss and Dean deftly snatched it out of the air, waggling his eyebrows when he caught Ronon's evaluating look.

"Does the colonel know he's sharing his cache?" Sam asked, slightly concerned.

Ronon shrugged. "He'll figure it out eventually." He held out a beer to Sam who pursued his lips pensively, staring at the can like it was giving him an ethical dilemma. Knowing his little brother it probably was. Sam was always uneasy with how much they had had to steal in their previous life, going with it only because the rationalization of taking what they needed was true. While Lenore had been a crap mom she had at least always had the funds to take care of them.

Coming to a decision Sam snagged the offered beer. Dean raised his brows, a little surprised. Sam's eyes flicked to Dean's shoulder before coming to rest on his face, Sam's expression perfectly neutral. Dean smiled out of the corner of his mouth. Leave it to Sam to drink someone's beer out of revenge.

Wait.

Dean frowned at his brother and Sam's face cleared into a perfectly innocent look. The one he wore when he was guilty as sin. Dean scowled.

That beer-stealing bitch!

Ronon pulled another beer out of the sack before he tied the thing off and gave it a light kick overboard. The bag hit the ocean with a crash before sinking into the improvised cooler. He cracked open his beer, holding it out as foam rushed out of the can and splatter onto the ground. "How'd you hurt your shoulder?" he asked before taking a sip.

Dean sputtered on his beer, the sip he'd just taken spraying all over the deck in an attempt to stop it from slipping up his sinuses. Wiping his chin with the ball of the thumb he took another sip, trying to project an air of dignity. "What makes you think I hurt my shoulder?" he asked with a calm that was in total contradiction to his earlier

"You two were talking about it." Ronon took another sip, watching Dean intently.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "We never said anything."

"Doesn't change the fact that you were talking."

A cold rage filled Dean, the icy tendrils burying themselves deep in his innards. It took everything he had not to crush the can he was holding into oblivion and stuff it down Ronon's throat. Dean felt exposed, violated in a way he hadn't been since the siren had hijacked his mind and his mouth.

Despite his efforts the can in his hand began to groan in protest.

It was drowned out by Sammy's delighted laughter. "You're the first person to catch what we were talking about!" Sam sounded astonished in a way Dean hadn't heard in decades and the elder Winchester found himself relaxing at the sound, awash in pleasant memories. It reminded Dean of Sammy's first library card. The kid had practically geekgasmed when he'd discovered that the thing let him bring home books for free. Dean could still picture Sam holding the tiny piece of cardboard with the awe and wonder that came with being seven years old. Less than a year later that wonder would be poisoned with knowledge of true evil.

Ronon snorted in disgust. "Lantians don't notice much."

"But you do," Sam answered back, his tone flooded with understanding and in that moment Dean got it. His own gut eased as he saw the way Sam saw Ronon and understood why his brother wasn't upset by the man's glimpse into he and Dean's world. There may not have been ghosts or demons to fight in this new reality there were still monsters, still hunters, and Ronon was undeniably one of them. While it didn't make him a friend or even an ally it did create some common ground, and Sammy was all about the common ground. The girl.

Ronon shrugged off the comment. "You haven't opened your beer." He was right. Sam hadn't. Instead of drinking the damn thing he was using it as an ice pack for his wrist.

Dean looked at his brother sharply. "Do you need to go visit Dr. B?"

Sam scowled. "Only if you plan to show him your shoulder."

Dean held his hands up peaceably. He understood Sam's reluctance. The Scottish doctor was a little too curious about Sam to be trusted.

Ronon crossed his arms. "So, how'd you hurt your shoulder?"

"Same way Sam hurt his wrist."

"Liar."

Dean sighed. Ronon really was part hunter, which means that if Dean didn't fess up the man was likely to beat the truth out of him. While Dean was no slouch at hand-to-hand and confident he could hold his own against the taller man, he didn't have a pain kink and keeping the information secret wasn't worth the bruises he'd get protecting it. "It was Sheppard."

Ronon turned, looking out over the ocean. "He's been sick."

"So the whole psycho killer vibe isn't his usual bit?" Dean was skeptical. The dude was military, after all. It was part of the job description.

"No." Ronon frowned, clearly troubled. "Sheppard's a cool guy."

Dean could sense a personal history behind the comment. It was force of habit more than curiosity that caused him to dig. "How'd you meet?"

Ronon's lips twitched into a predatory grin. "I shot him."

"Yeah?" Dean grinned back, not doubting Ronon for a moment. After all, with the way he'd met Johnny he had no room to judge. "How'd he take that?"

"He was impressed with my gun. McKay wants to take it apart to try and make more."

Dean let out a bark of laughter. "Dude, _everyone_ is impressed with your gun. That thing is fantastic." It had incinerated the targets at the range.

Ronon smiled darkly. "You should see what it does to the Wraith."

Dean caught the way Ronon's lip curled and the underlying snarl in his voice as he spoke of the aliens and any doubt that Ronon would have been a hunter had they met at a different time vanished. He used the same tone that Bobby Singer spoke of demons and Gordon Walker of vampires. The same tone that Dean spoke of angels. Out of respect and a need to avoid intimate touchy feely conversations with strange space barbarians Dean desperately dredge his mind for a new and safer topic of conversation.

The need to do so was cut short by a soft clink. Dean and Ronon both spun at the sound.

On the deck lay Sam's beer, the can twisted and split like John Hurt's chest. Instead of blood across the cafeteria, beer and foam had splashed all over the deck, the white bubbles sliding further away from the initial explosion as the wind spurred them onwards.

Sam stared down at his hand, the appendage still curled like he was holding a can against his bruised wrist. His face was covered in a frustrated confusion, as though he was having problems accepting the fact that the beverage was no longer where it was supposed to be. He blinked slowly, like the act could somehow cause time to reverse and allow reality to right itself. The wind tugged at Sam's dark hair, revealing eyes that seemed to glaze even as his face drained of all color.

Dean swore and rushed to his brother, his own beer forgotten. He wrapped a firm hand into Sam's collar, pulling his brother forward as Sam began to collapse. With a move he had perfected from far too much practice Dean pulled sideways, twisting so that Sam fell safely into his lap instead of crashing into the hard ground, his unseeing eyes up staring at the azure sky as Dean gently rocked his body.

"I'll go get help."

"Don't!" Dean shouted sharply. Ronon stopped in his tracks, giving Dean a disbelieving look. "Don't." Dean repeated, calmer and more controlled. "Sam'll be okay. He just needs a minute."

Ronon looked at Dean with undisguised disbelief. "Beckett will still need to see him." His tone was uncompromising.

Dean took a deep breath. "I swear to God if you tell Beckett I will take your fancy gun and beat you to death with it." Sam made a strangle rasp so Dean ran his fingers through Sam's hair and gave a soothing mutter, hoping that the comforting gestures reached his brother's mind in whatever nightmare it was watching. "I know he looks sick, but he's not. He's fine. Just give him a minute."

Dean didn't know what it was, whether it was his tone or something else, but Ronon took the few steps back to where he and Sam were sitting and he squatted down, his face a mask of concentration as he watched Sam's form. Dean let him fade into the background, concentrating on the feel of his brother in his arms, silently measuring Sam's breathe as he watched his brother give the occasional twitch. The first sign of Sam coming back from his future adventures was always a hitch in his breathing. This time was no exception.

Next came the fighting. Dean always hated this part because it gave him a glimpse of how freaked out Sam was by whatever he'd seen. This time wasn't as bad as the last, but it was all relative. Sam settled for jerking and twisting, but he didn't try to kick and claw his way out of Dean's grip.

As suddenly as they started Sam's struggles ceased, morphing into rapid blinking. "Dean?" Sam murmured the same way he had as a child just waking from a nightmare, trying to gage if he was really awake or about to be pulled under the bed by the shadows.

"I gotcha, Sammy," Dean spoke softly, helping ease his brother into a sitting position. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Sam's voice didn't tremble as he spoke the sentiment, which meant that it might actually be true. Dean helped him to his feet, waving off Ronon's help. He was mollified by how little weight Sam needed to place on him to get to his feet.

"All right. You've had enough adventure for the day. Time to get back to the room." Dean's tone was light but he hoped that Sam was thinking clearly enough to catch the undertone.

"What was that?" Ronon's stare was intense, as though he could will the Winchesters to speak.

Both Heaven and Hell had learned the hard way that you couldn't will the Winchesters into doing anything. "It's nothing a little rest won't cure. Now let's go back to the room."

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean. He needs to hear."

It seemed that Sammy was in the mood to have a repeat of Ellen. What the hell was with his brother and sharing deep family secrets with complete strangers?

"Hear what?"

Dean subbed at his temple. Dammit Sam. "After we get back to the room." Hopefully by that time Dean had come up with a creative excuse to counter his brother's insanity.

"Dude, I'm-"

"You shut up," Dean grumbled. Sam was still pale and the sweat on his brow had nothing to do with the sun. Visions hit Sam hard when he was on the top of his game and they had forgone sleeping in favor of star watching and chick flick moments. The next time Sam wanted to talk about his feelings Dean was going to shoot him.

With Ronon's gun.

The walk back to the room was too slow for Dean's liking, though he could have ran to the room and it still would have been still too slow. It didn't help that the city was humming in the back of his skull. Atlantis had to be the puppy that had taken to humping his brain.

First, there were no ghosts here and Dean knew this because he'd checked. Thoroughly. When he was ten. It had turned out to actually be electrical problems every time. Who would have thought, right?

Second, there was little bubble of popping delight every single freaking time he opened a door. There was no way an alien possessing him would be that excited about so simple a task. Dean was a bit afraid to do more than that. If opening a door made the city that happy, what the fuck would happen if he tried to adjust the lights?

When they finally made it to the room Sam darted in, placing the beds between he and Dean as he waited for Ronon to enter, successfully preventing his brother from saving Sam from the stupidity of his own actions.

The door clicked shut and Ronon rested against the frame, trapping the Winchesters in the room with him as he waited for answers.

Sam didn't make him wait long. "I have visions of the future."

"Right." Ronon turned to Dean, looking for an actual explanation.

"Sammy thinks he has visions of the future. It's a side effect of the seizures." Dean gave what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug.

Ronon frowned, clearly believing Dean about as much as he believed Sam.

Sam huffed and put on his bitch face. "Dean, grow up. This is _serious_." Dean couldn't help but see a five year old stamping his foot explaining the importance wrapping plants in plastic so they could eat sunshine.

The illusion shattered when Sam turned his head and crossed his arms, his gaze focusing on Ronon. "John Sheppard is turning into a bug. In order to try and save his life you and your team are going to go to the planet where the bugs live, sneak into their nest, and try to steal some eggs. It's going to go wrong. As Dr. Beckett approaches the eggs the bugs are going to get agitated. Then they're going to get pissed. They'll attack. You'll make it out. Walker and Stevens won't. They're going to be eaten alive. The bugs are going to wrap themselves around their bodies, attaching themselves to the neck, arms and legs. The grenade thrown into the cave will hurt, but it won't kill them. The bugs are going to drain the life out of them over the span of ten minutes, and they are going to be awake for the entire time." Sam flared his nostrils, his energy running high. "You don't believe me now. Fine. I get that. This is crazy, right?" Sam gave a small, hopeless smile. "I just hope you change your mind before someone dies."

Ronon stared at Sam, flicked his gaze to Dean and then left the room without a word.

The moment he was gone Dean spun on his brother. "Dammit, Sam! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was _thinking_ that maybe I could save the lives of two people. Now come on. We have work to do." Sam moved to their duffle bags, shuffling through the clothes to pull out a journal.

"Doing what?" Dean grunted, still pissed but his curiosity piqued.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You really think these people are going to save themselves?"

Dean thought back to the hick from the mess hall and gave a harsh chuckle. "I think they can use all the help they can get."

x—x-x—x

Rodney McKay was having a bad day. To be honest, in his considerably informed opinion, he was having a bad life. It was a bi-product of being the smartest person in two galaxies. In addition of having to deal with the issues that only his intelligence could solve he was also forced to continually deal with the stupidity of others.

But today was especially bad.

It had started early because some idiot, probably Kavanagh, hadn't calibrated the system for their system patch and because no one else could figure out that when something was smoking the best approach was to turn it off, McKay had been called in. He'd spent an hour installing a new patch and fixing the damage the inferior one had caused. By the time he had been done all he had wanted was a gallon of coffee but he had made it to the mess hall some idiot, probably Kavanagh, had drank the last cup and hadn't bothered to tell anyone. McKay had been forced to waste precious time he could have been using to search the database for the secrets of Zed-PMs waiting for the coffee to percolate. When he had gotten to the lab he had begun to go over the previous day's data. A massive unexplained power surge the previous afternoon had forced McKay to hunt down Radek for an explanation. The cheeky Czech had explained that Cadwell had delivered genes users who were possibly of the Sheppard variety. If it were true it meant that there had been a severe breakdown in communications somewhere or Elizabeth had willfully not informed McKay of new personnel who could greatly aid in the furthering of scientific knowledge. If it were false it meant that Radek was so afraid of McKay that he had resorted to lying to save himself from the consequences of his actions, which meant that Rodney would need to find a new second in command because he didn't have time to be sparing people's feelings and couldn't deal with inaccurate information. This would cause all sorts of problem because Zelenka was one of the few people in the city who wasn't _entirely_ stupid. If it turned out the Czech was lying Rodney intended to make him suffer the way he would have to suffer as he searched the personnel records. He'd partner Radek with some idiot.

Probably Kavanagh.

It must have been the stress of these events that had led McKay to agree to Carson's suicide mission to save Sheppard. Because going to an Iratus bug infested planet with the intention of sneaking into a nest to steal some eggs so Carson could perform the voodoo magic he insulting labeled as a science to try and save Sheppard was most definitely a form of suicide. McKay had been there when the insect had wrapped itself around Sheppard's neck. He'd been there when they had stopped the colonel's heart in order to save his life because nothing else worked on the creature.

On the positive side of things, if Rodney was dead he wouldn't have to deal with the frustration of attempting to find a human being worth his time to replace Radek. On the negative, he'd be dead and Atlantis would probably be destroyed with hours of the city getting that announcement. That and he'd win his Noble Prize posthumously, which really defeated the purpose of the Noble Prize because the thing was all about bragging rights and the dead didn't get to brag on account of having no vocal cords because they'd rotted away because they were dead.

Then again, if he didn't go there'd probably be a mass mechanical failure because Major Lorne would probably park near the only thing on the planet that could disrupt Ancient circuitry and one of his goons would try and fix it, causing the entire thing to explode which would happen to set off some undetectable yet highly volatile gas in the atmosphere, triggering a chain reaction that would cause the planet to burn up, killing all life, including the Iratus bug, and leaving Rodney with no team and no way of finding more Iratus bugs because the Ancients couldn't be bothered to organize their own data base, condemning Sheppard to continue his transformation into an insect and knowing Earth the IOA would probably request that Sheppard be shipped back to be studied in Area 51, but on the way to the base he'd break out of his restraints, kill the person driving his van, escape into the wild where he would feast on the occasionally hiker until one of his victims managed to escape, make his way back to society just as the retrovirus took hold of his system so he could continue to cycle of violence, spreading the disease until Earth was full of mindless man-eating bug people, which would mean that Rodney would never be able to justify shipping Kavanagh back, no matter how big of an idiot that man was. Which was why Rodney had volunteered to go. It had nothing to do with the fact he and Sheppard were having sex.

Absolutely.

Nothing.

Okay, maybe it had a little to do with fact that he and Sheppard were having sex. They weren't in a relationship, per say, because then John would be gay, not that John wasn't gay but he wasn't allowed to be officially gay in Atlantis because he was still a member on the United States Air Force and unlike its enlightened Canadian counterpart the United States still had some ridiculously redundant notions regarding hetero-normative social practices.

Besides, it was all Elizabeth's fault! What did she think was going to happen if she locked them in a room together? Though it just went to show how truly stupid the rest of the world was. Rodney couldn't believe they thought it had taken he and Sheppard an entire week to kiss and make up. They'd done that on day four. The other three days were spent kissing and making out.

So Rodney had agreed to help Carson help John and probably get himself killed in the process. While Beckett had gone to round up his things and Lorne had gone to round up his goons Rodney had been sent to round up his team. He'd found Teyla doing the whole Athosian Zen thing she did in her quarters and then had gone to the gym, expecting to find Ronon making meat out of Sheppard's marines. When that had failed he'd gone to the usual haunts. After three stops Rodney had given up and just radioed the giant, telling the man to meet him in near the labs. Ronon had showed, Rodney had explained the plan in its entirety, and Ronon had turned around and left without a word.

McKay hadn't been able to decided between being shocked that Ronon hadn't been jumping at the chance to kill things or pissed that the man had marched off without a word while John's life was on the line, so he had decided to play it safe and go for being both.

He was in the middle of chewing out a new recruit who had decided that "Don't Touch" actually translated into "Go Ahead. Touch me. You know you want to. Who cares that I might explode and kill you and everybody in a thirty-foot radius. Touch me" when Ronon reappeared.

"Here." The Runner held out what looked like a piece of scribbler paper and Rodney snatched it with a scowl, the newest member of the idiot brigade forgotten.

Instead of cave doodles the piece of paper held a comprehensive design of what looked to be a weapon. Rodney frowned as he studied the picture, rapidly assembling the components into a 3D design within his mind's eye as he slowly sank into a chair, flattening the paper out. "Where did you get this?" the scientist muttered as he played with the plans, taking a pen and drawing over some of the rougher bits. The design was clever and creative, if a pointless, and Rodney wanted whoever had drawn it in his engineering department. Someone on this base had a talent the Rodney wasn't making use of the scientist was determined to change that.

"Can you make it?" Ronon asked, completely ignoring Rodney's question.

"Why? It's just a giant water gun. A highly pressured water gun that could probably strip your flesh from bone, but still just a water gun. We have bullets. What out there could this thing possibly kill that bullets can't do and do more efficiently?" The Rodney caught the words that had been written in one corner and his question was answered. Salt water. "It's for the Iratus bugs," Rodney whispered in wonder.

Rodney jumped to his feet, pointing at his nearest minion. "You!" A young woman with thick glasses and a dark ponytail paled as she pointed to herself. "Yes, you!" Rodney would have rolled his eyes but he didn't have time. "Contact Dr. Weir. Tell her I'll need two more hours before we can depart. Go. Now!" The women went scurrying to the door. Rodney tapped his radio. "Zelenka, come in!"

"Now what do you want?" came the expected grumble. Apparently Zelenka was still sore about this morning.

"You. Here. Now."

There was a beat of silence. "You will have to be more specific, Dr. McKay."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Science Lab seven. We have two hours to assemble a water-gun to keep the Iratus bugs from killing me."

"Oni nejsou jediná věc, které musím zabránit, aby tě zabila." There was an exasperated sigh on the other end. "I am on my way."

Rodney looked down at the paper again, his pen dancing over the design.

Maybe it wasn't a suicide run after all.

x-x—x-x

John was in his room, listening to the heartbeats of the guards outside his door. Steady thumps. No fear. Good men. His men. They listened.

Elizabeth hadn't. She wasn't going to let him go. Risking his men for his life. Wrong. Supposed to be the other way. His life for his men. Not this.

His men were outside, beating steadily. They weren't afraid.

Not yet.

x-x—x-x

Elizabeth sat in her office, trying to will herself to calm down by taking deep, slow breathes.

It wasn't working.

She was still furious with Steven. She understood on an intellectual level that the man truly did think that he was helping by actively doing John's job, just as she understood that he didn't get it. He wasn't there to replace John. He was there to keep the seat warm. She could appreciate his enthusiasm and how he must be feeling, having been given a taste of the position he had longed for so long despite the circumstances. If it hadn't been for Elizabeth's efforts Cadwell most certainly would have replaced Colonel Sheppard. But that did not excuse the thoughtlessness of his actions. By changing protocol mere hours after his self appointment he was telling the city the one thing Elizabeth had been trying to assure everyone wasn't going to happen, that John wasn't going to die.

Elizabeth slumped forward, her eyes focusing on the carving on her desk, tracing the grip of the four women with her eyes. It had been a gift from her mother before she had passed away. To serve as a reminder that everyone was connected. Elizabeth had thought she had understood what that had meant, what being linked with other people felt like back when she had lived on Earth.

It wasn't until she had come to Atlantis that she had realized how wrong she was.

The people here were as one. They either rose together or fell together, and time and time again everyone here had shown their ability to be selfless and courageous, many of them sacrificing their own lives so that others would survive. Now they were hurting together as John hurt, and there was nothing Elizabeth could do but have faith in her people, as she had had to do so many times before.

Elizabeth let out another deep breath, her anger seeping out with the air. What's done was done and _when _John recovered they would all file this away as just another bad day. Little was to be accomplished by worrying about it and Atlantis didn't stop just because Weir was stressed.

With that in mind she straightened her spine and grabbed her computer, determined to get something done.

As she pulled the tablet forward a heavy envelope slid forward, tipping off the edge of her desk. With a frown Elizabeth leaned forward uncomfortably, using one hand on her desk to balance herself. The fingertips of her other hand scraped the cold linoleum as they worked their way under the heavy material. She grasped it and pulled it back into viewing, giving it a blank look before the images of two young men finally came to mind. She cringed, realizing that once again she had forgotten about the mysterious young men Jack had sent to her care.

She cracked open the paper, hoping perhaps that some of the uncertainty surrounding them would be dispelled.

x-x—x-x

Carson's mother would scud him if she knew what he was doing right then.

Not that Carson could even blame her. If he figured out what he was doing he'd probably scud himself. The trick was to not really think about it. He wasn't really wandering through a forested planet that held the species the Wraith had evolved from. Oh no. He was going for a gander in a forest that held lots of biodiversity. That's right. Any one of these marvelous plants could hold the secrets to curing a variety of diseases such as multiple sclerosis, Alzheimer's or cancer. Perhaps one was a topical anesthetic, or a fever reducer. Maybe one was an anti-irritant. Hell, he'd settle for finding one that made a half decent tea.

But the little fantasy he'd built to protect himself from having to deal with the current situation crumbled when Ronon plunged his hands into pumpkin colored dung, gave his fingers a sniff and declared it fresh.

The doctor stared at the cave entrance, watching the craggy rocks as though they were giant teeth ready to swallow him the moment he stepped through the opening. It was easy to imagine that the flakes of viridian moss gripping the dark minerals was the rotting flesh of previous explorers, and that the foul stench wafting into the fresh air was the odor of alien digestion.

Lorne glared, cutting off a Rodney tirade before it was in full swing. It was a sign of just how fire things were that Rodney fell into silence instead of protesting the nature of the universe. A quiet Rodney was the equivalent of Hell freezing over.

Lorne shifted, disconcerted by Rodney's lack of protest. "Okay people. What's the plan?" he asked, trying to fill the heavy silence.

Beckett humored the man, even though he had explained the all too simple plan several times since the briefing. "Well, we go in there. We take get the eggs. We get out." _Hopefully in one piece. _

Lorne nodded. "All right. Teyla, Ronon, you're on point with me. Walker, Stevens, you take our six. Docs, you're in the middle, so try not to get eaten on my watch. Move ou-"

"Oh no you don't!" Rodney cut in. He waved a furious hand at the grunts that had come along. Donald Walker and Mark Stevens both watched the hand warily, obviously concerned about being the center of McKay's attention.

They had reason to be.

"I did not delay this little field trip expending my genius and reassigning my minions from their valuable tasks and utilizing the precious resources of Atlantis just to have you place the people who are currently carrying the most effective weapons we have _in the back!_"

"McKay-" Lorne interjected, only to be cut off again.

"Seriously, how do they recruit for the military these days? Is it a checkers tournament or do you people just thumb wrestle for promotions?"

"McKay!"

"My cat has a better sense of strategy than you and he likes to like his own genitals-"

"Rodney!" Beckett shouted.

"What?" McKay snarled indignantly.

"You haven't told us what it does."

Rodney blinked owlishly at Carson, like he couldn't quite believe the statement that had come out of the man's mouth. "Obviously, it kills Iratus bugs."

Lorne rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we get that. But how?"

Rodney seemed to light up at the question, his hands flying wildly as he described the functions of the large silver cylinders that were strapped to the two marines. "The tanks have been pressurized to spray a solution of water, sodium, monomeric acryl amides, and acrylic acid groups through a focused nozzle. The solution added to the water fuses the water molecules together, increasing the force from which they are fired bringing the total pressure exerted to close to five hundred pounds per square inch. The tanks themselves hold close to thirty litres of fluid but once it's gone the things are useless."

Teyla blinked, lost by Rodney's jargon and rapid speech. "I do not understand," she admitted with hesitation, looking for someone else to translate the explanation into plain English.

Ronon gave a dark smile. "It's the super soaker from hell."

Teyla's confused frown deepened, marring her smooth tan face with wrinkles. "Super soaker?"

"Great," Lorne nodded. "They shoot water. That's just wonderful." He sounded less than enthused.

Rodney glared and opened his mouth to launch into another explanation, or a rant, but Carson headed him off. "It doesn't just shoot water. It's firing _salt_ water."

"Exactly," Rodney snapped his fingers. "The Iratus bug was highly reactive when dumped brine on it during our first encounter."

Lorne looked at Beckett, then back at Rodney. "Fine. Teyla and Walker, you take our six. Stevens, on point with me and Ronon. Docs-"

"Yes, yes, in the middle," Rodney waved dismissively, pulled on his night vision goggles, and fell into place just a head of Carson.

Carson took a deep breath before setting foot in the cave, trying to hold on to as much fresh air as he possible could before he was forced to inhale the putrid scent of Iratus waste. It took all his years of medical training to not gag as he dragged in the acid decay, the smell burning his sinuses.

He gripped the sample collector tighter.

Harder to ignore was the chittering noise floating in from ahead. It sent gooseflesh down his spine and he couldn't help but think of that God-awful movie Mason Braden had made him watch. He had to blink away the image of thousands of scarabs eating people alive as they made that same clicking noise. He looked for something to distract him from his fears and landed on McKay, who was popping the collar of his of his BDU.

"Ya can't honestly believe that that'll help, do you?"

Rodney pulled his collar closer to his neck. "When they go for you first you won't be so skeptical."

Beckett could only shake his head. For being a genius Rodney certainly had his daft moments.

"Beckett," Lorne called, "are we in the right spot?"

Carson swallowed before answering. "Aye. The database says the eggs are in a central nest. It should be pretty obvious."

"Should?" Rodney whispered harshly. "We're in here on a 'should'? And you wonder why I think you practice voodoo."

Beckett's soothing reply was lost as the group took a step around the corner.

The entire cavern was filled with Iratus bugs. Most of them were squirming on the floor, crawling over on another with little care. The occasional bug dropped from the ceiling with a lazy flit of its wings. In the strange emerald hue caused by the goggles the sight was absolutely eerie. Beckett forcibly reminded himself that it was his retrovirus that had made the colonel sick and that it was his responsibility to make amends. Running from the cave screaming would accomplish nothing.

Beckett focused, his eyes latching on to the tear shaped sacks hanging from the ceiling.

"How are we gonna get them?" Lorne hissed, frustrated by the volume of bugs underneath the sacks.

"Did I not just explain that we have a very big, very effective weapon against the Iratus?"

Lorne and Stevens exchanged a look and the sergeant nodded. "Okay, Beckett. When Stevens fires you go in, take what you need, and get out. If I say abort, you abort, you got that."

"Aye," Beckett answered grimly.

Stevens let out a shuddering breath. "Three," the marine counted down. "Two. One." He pulled the trigger.

A thin, horizontal slash of water sprayed from the weapon and the cave erupted into screams as the Iratus under the beam struggled to move away from the alkaline solution. Those unfortunate enough to take flight into the rushing water were shredded by the intensity of the spray.

Beckett ignored all this, moving forward with a speed cultivated through years of emergency calls. Like in the ER he cut out of the sounds of the dying, focusing on the task at hand. With an unusual carelessness he thrust his sample collector into the nearest sack, grunting as it fought to pierce the out skin of the pouch.

Sweat gathered on his brow as he pushed, frustration mounting as the tip refused to penetrate. Then a firm hand wrapped over his, adding strength to his own and the metal clamp pushed through. With a deft touch Beckett operated the trigger, opening the claw and snapping it shut moments later, hopefully full of the precious eggs.

He had no time to check as he was dragged towards the exit by his helper.

"Go! Go! Go!" Lorne's shouts echoed above the shrieks and Carson stumbled, trying to help whoever was pulling him along.

"Walker!" Stevens was shouting, his voice laden with fear. The screams died off and there was a collective angry hiss.

"Shit!" Walker cried, but Beckett couldn't see what was wrong. He was too busy fleeing.

So he didn't see Teyla and Stevens running behind him, or how Walker dropped the hose, his hands shaking as a wall of bugs rose up towards him. He didn't witness, but would later hear about how Ronon grabbed the water gun, tore it from Walker's back and pushed the marine ahead, spurring the man into retreat.

He did, however, feel the explosion as the Runner shot what was essentially a giant aerosol can with super heated laser.

There was heat, pressure, and then the world was moving by at an alarming speed. It stopped suddenly and dramatically as Beckett slammed into warm flesh.

With a groan the doctor rolled over, blinking up at the suspiciously sunny sky. He heard coughing and another moan from somewhere close by before Teyla's face filled his vision.

"Are you hurt, Dr. Beckett?"

"No." Carson was a wee bit surprised to discover that it was true. "I'm just a bit shaken." Worry cleared from Teyla's visage as she gave a relieved nod. "Everyone else?"

"We're all good, Doc." Lorne's voice floated from somewhere to his left, as did a harsh coughing.

"Speak for yourself," Rodney grumbled. "You didn't have anyone land on you. Carson broke my ribs. I'm at risk for osteoarthritis you know." Rodney's complaints were cut off by more hacking and the sound of spitting. "I think I swallowed half the planet."

"Glad to hear you're fine, McKay," Lorne responded unsympathetically.

Teyla helped Carson to his feet, allowing the MD to survey the scene. Everyone save for Rodney was standing and while no one taking top prize in the local fair, everybody looked well enough to make it back to the Jumper under their own power.

Medical assessment done Carson frowned, realizing his was forgetting something. While the delay in thought made him realize that he was probably slightly concussed, that was quickly outstripped when he spotted his steel pole lying on the ground.

"Feck," he murmured, dashing towards it. His hands wrapped around its cold grip as nausea swam through him.

"Dr. Beckett?" Teyla crouched by him, worried. He brushed off her concern, checking the trap. The results made his eyes water, so he closed them and titled his head back. "Carson?" Her anxiety was more pronounced.

"We did it," he muttered gratefully. "We got the eggs."

x-x—x-x

**Confusion Clear Ups**

Ocean beer- I have a relative in the military and he spent the summer working in the near the Rockies. When he was off duty he and his buddies would go splashing around in this glacier creek that ran by where they were living. They ended up taking their laundry bags, which were these netted sacks, filling them with beer and dumping them in the river so they could have glacier fresh Kokanee.

John Hurt- Actor who played Kane in Alien. Spoiler Alert. Dude whose chest explodes first.

Sciency Improved Water- Actually called Super Water, used in water jets, which are used in cutting metal. Yes. That's right. Cutting metal. The solution basically binds the water molecules to a rib so that when it sprays you don't have molecule clusters free floating, which means the water hits with a great force. Basically it's hitting someone with a bag of marbles vs hitting something with a bag of marbles that you have glued together. No give= greater force. (This is why cars crumple. The give in the frame exponentially slows down the force with which the passenger is moving. It's also why stunt people jump off of buildings onto boxes).

Oni nejsou jediná věc, které musím zabránit, aby tě zabila.- _ They are not the only thing I have to keep from killing you. _Huge thanks to Katuska for the translation into Czech and the explanation that Czech=|=Slovak.

30 litres = 8 gallons (give or take.)

Scarab Movie-The Mummy Returns.

Scud- Tan, bless, spank. Take your pick.


	7. Ciao Time

AN- Warnings! Violence! Lots of Violence! AND GORE! BWA HA HA! You've been warned. Also, this is story 1 in an arc that I have a tentative nine fics planned for. Just keep that in mind. Trust me, if you will.

* * *

**Puddle Jumping**

Chapter 7

Ciao Time

* * *

He was hungry.

John could hear the heartbeats of the guard detail Elizabeth had assigned to his room at his urging. It was too little. If Elizabeth had been smart she would have tossed him in one of the laser cages the Ancients had left behind. Even Rodney armed with a data pad couldn't get out of one of those and he'd tried hard. Zelenka had bet McKay a hundred bucks on the Chief Scientist being stuck but it was the bragging rights that Zelenka walked away with. Very few people on base could ever say they were right when Rodney was wrong, and in most of those cases there were too many bodies to count that as a victory.

But no, Elizabeth trusted John to be fine. She trusted that he was in control, that he could manage to hold on while everyone else tried to save him.

It wasn't the first time she had been wrong.

He didn't get it though, couldn't understand how she'd missed it. Even he could see the madness leak into his eyes as the iris changed to the color of stale urine even as his skin scaled, the smoky blue spreading across his body like the virus it was, eating away at John and leaving a monster in its place.

So he had made her put guards up. Good men. Smart men. Not like the new ones. They didn't challenge him. They respected him. Feared him. They knew he was strong enough to destroy them and when he was ready they would cower and hide. They were good men.

But they were wrong. He didn't need to be here. He needed to be out in his city. He needed to be teaching others that the city was his. Only his. They didn't belong.

But he was hungry. So hungry.

And so very very angry.

x-x—x-x

Chuck was the replacement for Dr. Peter Grodin, who had been killed the way everyone had been killed during the siege; saving lives. This meant that Chuck as a gate technician was the one in charge of dialing to the correct planets, of making sure the shield was down when allies were coming in hot and up when the enemies were trailing right behind them. He was the one who had to hit the button fast enough to make sure no stray bullets followed teams through the gate, to make sure that when the team made it back to Atlantis that they stayed safe. It was a crucial job integral to the running of the city.

Chuck hated it.

He hated it because he was the replacement for Dr. Grodin, who had died so that Rodney McKay could save everyone. He hated it because people still called him Grodin and looked flustered and genuinely surprised that he wasn't the British engineer, like they had somehow been able to forget for a single moment that Grodin was _dead_ and they were alive because of that fact. Chuck was a man who, despite having been a vital part of the team since day one, was known only for standing in a ghost's shoes.

He hated it because everyone thought that since he was Canadian he and Dr. McKay were somehow innate friends and if he wasn't careful he'd have a stack of bad news from the cowards wandering around the base that he had to go give to the Chief of Science. No one noticed that _because_ they were both Canadian Dr. McKay went out of his way to be _harder _on Chuck so that the technician didn't lower others' opinions of Rodney's country of birth by allowing vacuous idiocy to pass through his lips in the disguise of conversation.

But the worst part of Chuck's job was the waiting. He was beginning to understand why his Grandmother was so dedicated to her stories after she retired. Even having the melodramatic drivel of Eric Brady's life on Days of Our Lives would have been preferable to the long periods of nothing but waiting for alarms to ring and chevrons to clack as teams dialed in early, dialed in late, or didn't dial in at all.

From his vantage point he saw everything happening in the gate room. He saw the way Elizabeth kept emerging from her office under the pretense of supervising the staff when she only had eyes for the Stargate, willing it to come to life. He could see Radek slide into the room muttering about maintenance and incompetence but never opening a single panel or moving a single crystal. Marines kept cycling in, all with the same excuse of "I got lost looking for the gym." At least Stackhouse had manned up to what he wanted. He flat out told Elizabeth that he was waiting here until the team from Operation Save the Fucking Day returned.

Not that that was what it was called. Officially it was something boring and bureaucratic, like the PX7-429 Cellular Retrieval. Unofficially the current name would only last until the next Operation SFD commenced, which could either start tomorrow or a month from now. The Atlantis bookie had given Chuck great odds on a week from now. The technician figured that that was how long it would take Sheppard to get back on his feet and cleared to go through the gate.

But first the team had to get back.

So Chuck sat in front of the most important part of the city, a panel of blinking lights that some days he wanted to do nothing more than spill coffee all over and pretended that he wasn't bored out of his mind. He also pretended that he wasn't envious of every other technician on base, who all had downloaded solitaire onto their tablets, the lucky ducks.

He was in the middle of recounting how many lights there were in the room (one hundred and seventy nine) when the gate flashed to life with a buzzing whine.

"Unscheduled offworld activation!" Chuck announced, not that everyone else couldn't see that the Stargate had lit up but it was still part of his job. He glanced at the data streaming in and couldn't help but feel the knots in his back loosen. "Its Major Lorne's IDC."

Elizabeth had emerged from her office at the first sound of the gate and moved to her customary spot on the balcony. Chuck was certain that if someone ran their hands over the bars they would be able to feel the impressions left by Elizabeth's hands. Not that anyone was willing to test that theory. It was Elizabeth's spot and some days Chuck was certain that her standing there willing teams to come home alive was the only thing between the city and disaster. Everyone knew it was a silly superstition but no one ever stood in Elizabeth's spot, not even Dr. McKay.

Just in case.

"Lower the shield." Elizabeth touched her radio with a calm everyone admired. Chuck did too, despite being able to see through it. "Major Lorne, this is Dr. Weir. What's your status?"

The room held its breathe with Dr. Weir, Stackhouse leaning forward as Radek looked up from his tablet.

"This is Major Lorne. We have the package and are prepared to meet medical."

Elizabeth smiled, her shoulders sagging in relief as some of the marines who had wandered in whooped. "Dr. Biro is in the Jumper Bay waiting on you."

"Then we'd better not disappoint." The Jumper materialized in the room, Lorne's smirking face visible through the windshield. He gave Elizabeth a nod, the customary greeting for returns on missions, before the entire rig disappeared into the Jumper Bay.

Elizabeth returned to her office, probably to have a small break down. That was Chuck's theory, anyway. No one else seemed to agree.

Her departure was the universal all's well signal so it didn't take long for the gate room to empty of unnecessary personnel leaving Chuck alone with his thoughts and his job.

He really needed a deck of cards or something.

x-x—x-x

"John!"

He heard her call. She shouldn't have been there. He had warned her. Told her to stay away. He was hungry and she smelled so good.

"John," this time the call was timid, the way it should be. She should be afraid. "It's Elizabeth."

He knew that. His hearing was fine. Better than fine. He had heard her coming the moment she got off the transporter.

"I have good news," she continued, as though she wasn't wandering into the spider's web. "They got the eggs, John. Carson's working on the cure even as we speak. Do you understand?" She paused, waiting for him. "You're going to get better."

Better? He didn't need to get better. He was fine.

No. Not fine. He was hungry. They hadn't fed him. How dare they? It was his city. Meat. He wanted meat.

"John? Everything is going to be all right."

No. It wasn't. She was trying to make him less. She thought she was in control. She wasn't.

No.

She knew she wasn't. She was trying to _steal_ from him. She was impertinent. Like those boys, those birds.

Dean.

This was Dean's fault.

Which meant the solution was simple.

John dropped from the ceiling, barely registering Elizabeth's surprise as he shoved her across the room. She slid across the floor squeaking like the mouse she was. Then he was through the door, his good men lying at his feet.

This was his city.

He was in the transport, the hunt on before Elizabeth's shaky voice came over the radio, ordering everyone back into their quarters. Not that it mattered.

It was his city.

It was time they learned.

x-x—x-x

Dean was oddly at peace with himself.

Sam had grabbed the crappy folding chair that came with the room's desk and had set it up on the balcony. He'd dug out a monster book that he'd tucked away somewhere and was currently pouring through it while resting in a sunbeam, moving only to follow the light. He looked relaxed, at ease within his own skin and Dean chuckled at the realization that this was the happiest he'd ever seen his brother.

Sam peeked up from his book, brushing his bangs out of his face. "What?"

Dean shrugged, his hands still holding on tight to the balcony ledge as he reclined against it, back to the city as he watched his little brother. "It's nothing, man." Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow before turning back to his book, content to leave Dean to his own thoughts.

Always a risky endeavor.

"Hey Sam?"

"Mm?"

"You do know we're guardless right now."

Sam didn't even glance up. "No, Dean."

"Oh, come on, Sam!" Dean pushed himself away from the railing. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

Sam sighed and lowered the book into his lap. "We're not going trolling for babes."

Dean worked his jaw soundlessly before he settled for giving his brother a scowl. "Come on, Sammy. I'm crawling up the walls here." Dean started to pace to illustrate his point.

Sam snapped his book shut and followed Dean into the room. "Dude, we've only been in here for a few hours."

"And the only woman we've run into is that Elizabeth chick and she looks like she'd be a stickler about the age thing," Dean grumbled as he flopped onto the bed. Technically he was totally within her age range. Biologically was a different story but it was likely to be the only one she preferred. "Didn't the reports say that there is a hot alien wandering around here somewhere?"

"You mean besides Ronon?"

"Nasty, Sam. Besides, one of the guys at the SGC said that there was this slinky chick wandering around. Apparently she's pretty easy on the eyes."

"You're a pig, Dean," Sam bitched as he slipped his book back into his trunk. He'd set the thing up at the end of his bed, the one farthest from the door Dean noted approvingly, when a couple of goons had shown up carrying the luggage.

"I'm a hot commodity in high demand, Sammy." Dean smiled lewdly. "We've already deprived an entire galaxy of women. I owe it my best to service this one accordingly."

"Ew! Dean! Too much information!" Sam covered his ears.

Dean just shook his head sadly. "Someday, Sam, you'll understand the wonders of sexual conquest. In fact, today would be a great day for me to teach you."

A com system blared to life and Elizabeth's voice filled the city.

"This is Dr. Weir. Security team, report to gate room. We have a breach. All other personnel, return to quarters." The message looped twice before falling silent.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, ignoring Sammy's knowing smirk. So much for that plan. "Now what are we going to do?"

"We've got some paper left. We could play tic-tac-toe."

"Or we could go out there and lend a hand," Dean suggested.

Sam nodded solemnly. "Great idea, Dean. I'm sure we'll be able to go in and save the day. Just let me get our guns. Oh. Wait. We don't have any."

Dean sighed. "Or we could play tic-tac-toe." He glanced around the room. There wasn't really a great surface to play on. One desk, now chairless because of Sammy's sunbathing, was pushed up against the wall. Two beds had been set up side by side with a space between them. The door to the bathroom was on the end of the desk farthest from the door, only a few feet between it and the hidden door that led to the balcony. Excusing the view and the tasteful sci-fi décor the room was eerily like all the motels the boys had stayed in.

Huh. Fancy that.

"You move the desk over and I'll grab the chair," Dean ordered.

Sam made a bitchface. "Why do I have to move the desk?"

"You're the one who wants to play kiddy games."

Sam scowled but made is way to the desk as Dean passed him to go to the balcony. Dean smirked as he lifted the light plastic chair just as Sam let out a grunt of effort. There was the squeal of metal on metal before Sam's strain voice growled. "You're such a jerk."

"Less whining, more shifting, bitch." Dean looked over the city, taking in a deep breath. The air here was cleanest that Dean had ever tasted and he'd been to Heaven. He was really beginning to dig this Atlantis.

The sound of a buzzer filled the quarters and Dean recognized the noise from Stackhouse's late morning wake up call. Dean walked over to the desk. "You gonna get that Sammy?" He gestured to the folded chair. "I'm setting things up."

Sam glared and huffed but used his freakishly long legs to step over the desk to the door. It slid open with a wave of his hand as Sam put on his best greeting smile.

The smile twisted into a horrified grimace the moment Sam spotted the yellow eyes.

x—x-x—x

"Rodney, have you located John?" Elizabeth was vibrating with frenetic energy.

"I've got him! He's the red dot on screen." He pointed to the very obvious red dot on the Atlantis map.

Everyone frowned as they saw Sheppard wander into a living area.

Lorne voiced the question on everyone's mind. "What the hell is he doing there?"

x—x-x—x

Dean heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh. He looked up in time to see his brother go down with a gasp. John Sheppard, or what had once been the man, stood in the doorway. Blue-scaled skin had replaced the healthy flesh tones and little horns had begun to grow along his jaw line. The man's hands had twisted into cobalt claws, the fingernails having grown into yellow talons that matched the color of eyes, the pupils having morphed into the vertical slits of cat. All in all it looked like something out of a horror movie.

And out of one of the most horrific scenes of the Winchester's previous life.

But this time Dean wasn't stuck to a wall and he didn't give a shit if this John lived or died. He grabbed the shitty folding chair and tossed it with all of his might, the chair splintering on impact into a thousand olive shards as it collided with Sheppard, backed by the strength of Dean's days as a volunteer firefighter.

John looked down at the raining fragments, more confused than annoyed by the impact of the chair, which was why he wasn't ready when two hundred pounds of Winchester slammed into him.

The pair flew through the door, hitting the ground with enough force to continue sliding into the far wall of the hallway. Dean already had a fist cocked back before they even stopped moving, slamming it into the soldier's mutated face.

"Sonuvabitch!" Dean cursed, instinctively shaking out his hand as his knuckled split on the spiky growths.

Beneath him John smiled. Blue fingers wrapped themselves around Dean's neck and gave a small push, throwing Dean several feet down the hall.

Dean hit the ground with a bruising impact, trying to roll to protect himself from most of the damage. He used the momentum to carry himself back to his feet. He turned, quickly finding Sheppard. The colonel was standing in the middle of the hall, watching Dean blankly.

Silence and tension hung in the air as Dean waited for John to make the first move. And he would. He was toying with Dean and they both knew it. Christ, it was like fighting a demon but without the snarky dialogue; or the holy water, or devil's traps, or any other fucking thing that would have given Dean half a chance at surviving this.

John slowly tilted his head and for half a second Dean thought that he might have been aiming for the full three-sixty rotation.

Then John was moving and there was no time for thinking, just reacting.

The first fist flew by Dean's cheek and whistled past his ear even as he dodged to the right, bringing up his own into the colonel's ribs. Dean ducked under the second, kicking out and spinning with enough momentum to sweep John to the side. The bug man hit the wall but didn't fall. Hell, he didn't even shake. He just looked up at Dean with flat yellow eyes before using the wall to launch himself at his target.

Dean didn't even have time to swallow as a cobalt streak headed his way. He coiled his muscles, ready for impact.

Dean went down hard, a rib cracking under the assault. HE pushed the pain from his mind. It wasn't important right then and pretending it was would only get him killed. Instead he kicked up, trying to dislodge the body above his. John grinned down at him with the glee of a predator. Dean kicked harder, desperation fueling his movements.

John opened his mouth and instead of a maniacal laugh he emitted a high pitch whistle, like a ground squirrel in heat. Dean winced and brought his hands up, trying to throw more punches and shake the man monster loose.

Sheppard caught his wrists and leaned forward, straddling Dean as he gradually forced the Winchester's hands above his head. Dean twisted, breathing hard as he fought to escape the vulnerable position. His struggles increased when John forced both of Dean's wrists into one of his hands, leaving the soldier with one free fist. Dean had a sneaking suspicion he knew what John was planning to do with it.

But he didn't close his eyes. He just watched the hand draw back, knowing that as it stood it had enough force to shatter his skull.

John grinned.

Dean swallowed.

A metal frame came slamming down, hooking itself under John's chin and instinct had the bug man clawing at it as it pulled back, placing pressure on John's throat as olive tatters jabbed into the flesh. Dean twisted hard as Sammy yanked on the chair frame, dragging the deranged colonel off of his older brother.

John stumbled back a few steps before he found his footing. He dug in the heels of his combat boots and propelled himself backwards, knocking Sam down and falling in a tangle of limbs.

Sam dislodged himself and rolled to his feet, moving towards Dean as John struggled with the chair frame. He made it to his brother's side, pulling Dean to his feet just as the shriek of tortured metal rent the air. Sam spun, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dean as the thing that had been John threw off the twisted frame of the chair with an angry shrug.

The two brothers had a second to brush shoulders, to affirm that they were both mostly okay, before the fight was back on.

John was fast. Like wendigo fast. Dean barely had time to bring his arms up to deflect the fists flying his way and he could see that Sam was having similar problems fending off the colonel's kicks. It was like fighting a freaking possessed ninja.

John feinted to the left before sending a foot arcing towards Dean's skull. The hunter lifted his arms, gasping in pain as the block rattled his cracked rib. A second kicked followed to the sternum, launching Dean backwards to skid across the floor.

Sam lasted the few moments it took Dean to get back to his feet before a kick to the temple dropped the youngest Winchester like stone.

"Sam!" Dean cried. John looked up, smiling tightly at Dean. He pulled a foot back and slammed it into Sam's side. Sam didn't make a sound.

Dean screamed, throwing himself into a full body tackle. John staggered back a step as he tripped over Sam. Sheppard kicked up, sliding his legs under Dean's stomach before pushing, flipping the kid over his head.

Dean hit the ground with a rattle and he clutched at his side. He heard the colonel's echoing footsteps gradually getting louder as the man took lazy steps towards him. Dean rolled onto his stomach, clawing at the floor as he futilely tried to put distance between him and his attacker.

John booted him in the back and Dean moaned as another rib cracked. The foot pressed harder as John leaned forward and grabbed Dean's wrists. Dean whimpered as the bones in his chest grinded against each other but continued to buck as John slid Dean's arms down so that his hands rested by his hips, his palms facing up.

It wasn't until Sheppard began to pull up that Dean realized what he was doing.

"No," he protested weakly, vainly struggling to swing his arms outward to lessen the growing tension.

John continued to slowly draw Dean's arms up, only pausing when Dean let out a pained keen from the back of his throat. He smiled eerily.

And tugged.

Dean screams drowned out the sound of twin pops as his shoulders dislocated.

John dropped the limbs and they flopped uselessly across the tiles. He nudged Dean with his toes, flipping the body over. He frowned as he took in Dean's lax features, angered at the boy's escape into unconsciousness.

He bent over, wrapping a hand around Dean's throat. He lifted the body up with ease, holding it high enough that the Winchester's legs dangled as began to squeeze. Slowly.

He wanted this to last.

"No!" John gave a half turn at the sound, frustrated to see the other one already on his feet. He let out a screech, warning the kid to wait his turn.

Instead of being deterred by the shattering whistle it spurred Sam on, fueling his rage. He lunged forward, drawing his only weapon and plunging it deep into John's chest.

Sheppard screeched in rage, dropping Dean's limp form as his hands curled around the protruding object convulsively. He didn't pull the fork out, just stared at it with dumb wonder before he glanced up at Sam, murder in his eyes.

Seeing that look on the face of an opponent that was stronger and faster than Sam had the kid pulling out the oldest play in the book.

Sam fled.

x—x-x—x

Rodney watched the map, frowning at the scene unfolding. Three life signs wove together in an intricate dance, two white circling and wending past the red. His breath caught every time on of the dots obscured the other, fearing for those facing John almost as strongly as he feared for the colonel. He knew John would take it hard if he killed someone but at least he would be alive to regret it. It was petty of him but Rodney had never claimed to be a good person, just a smart one.

He frowned harder as one by one the white dots stilled and winced as the red one, as John, moved over one of the downed targets. One of the disadvantages of being the smartest man in two galaxies was that Rodney could easily extrapolate what exactly was happening to the poor sap that Sheppard was hovering over. His only comfort was that it wasn't one of his people. No one from the science division could have lasted that long in a fight.

His frowned deepened as the scene changed, white dot number two moving towards Sheppard. Whatever happened between them was brief but significant. Everything paused.

Then the white dot shot off like a bullet from a gun straight into the nearest transporter, which would have been great for the white dot if the red one didn't join him in the device before they both blinked out.

Rodney fumbled with the radio. "Sheppard is on the move."

"Where?" came Ronon's succinct response.

"Transporter between labs six and seven." He watched as the second white dot bounced around, then flicked his gaze to the first one, which still hadn't move. "Send medical to both locations."

"Gotcha." Ronon's tone was grim.

Rodney took a breath and reminded himself that they weren't _his_ people.

It was a cold comfort.

x—x-x—x

Sam was tossed through the doors, after they were open thankfully. He hit the floor at a good angle, rolling back onto his feet in one smooth motion but ruining the any showy effect he may have produced as he listed to one side. In his defense he'd just been rematerialized and probably had a concussion.

Not that John cared.

As soon as Sam was on his feet the soldier was moving with purposeful strides, anger radiating off of him like heat waves from the sun. Sam barely had time to block the fist coming at his face. He hissed in pain as his teeth rattled from the impact, his arms smarting from the blow, but was already moving to the side, dodging another fist as it came streaking his way. He used his movement to bring up his own knee, which John blocked with a powerful sweep of his hands.

Sam swung wildly, his fingers scraping as they slid across the rough skin of Sheppard's face, the scales shredding the skin on his knuckles. It didn't help that John didn't even give an inch. Sam could have been punching a brick wall for all the good it was doing.

Then again, brick walls didn't get pissed off and hit back.

Air rushed from Sam's chest as two quick blows slammed into his solar plexus, emptying his lungs and shaking his organs. His body crumpled forward and John caught him, grabbing him by his neck. Instead of the expected strangulation the colonel pulled his arm back and hammered Sam into the ground.

Without removing his hand he stepped, moving so he straddled Sam's hips. Sam batted at him ineffectually, like a fly beating its wings when it was already caught in the spider's web. John leaned forward, placing a little more pressure on the hand. He was pleased to see soft hazel eyes open wider with fear as the boy wrapped his hands around John's, trying to pry the colonel's hand away in his terror. Not that he doubted that the kid was afraid. The boy was rank with the stench of fear.

But fear was fleeting. Fear was soon forgotten. John was here to teach. Pain left memories. Pain made lessons.

John gave a meaningful look to the fork still sticking out of his chest. He felt the pulse under his fingers speed up as he his gaze trailed to Sam's shoulder. With a single pull John ripped through the boy's shirt, revealing the soft flesh underneath. He brought his fingers back to his mouth, giving them a long sensual lick as he studied the boy's hide.

The kid tried to swallow, the hand around his throat stopping the movement, but he didn't look away as John placed his wet claws against the tanned skin. He didn't scream as John pushed in, crimson blood welling around his fingers. John snarled, displeased at the stoicism, and pushed in deeper, burying himself up to his second knuckle. Sam grunted and hissed as John retracted his hand, but he didn't scream as blood ran down his chest.

Blood. It was pretty, the deep red swirling along the blue. It smelled heavy, hearty, and John slipped his fingers into his mouth, sucking off the scarlet nectar.

Something must have shown on his face because the boy beneath him flinched and began to twist and buck, as though his life depended upon it. The kid clawed feebly at John's arm, tearing his fingernails as he scratched at John's hardened flash.

John's own nails trailed down Sam's chest, carving a small shallow circle around the boy's navel.

"No! Please!" the boy begged. "Please."

The reaction made John smile. It was beautiful.

But the boy could do so much better.

x—x-x—x

Teyla's heart tightened as the transporter shifted them towards John. Normally the move was seamless, only the opening of the doors breaking the illusion of stillness. Usually there was no shift or jolt, or even the temperature change that accompanied passing through the Ring of the Ancestors. There was nothing to mark the change.

Usually.

This time everyone marked the transition by the sound of screaming that was barely muffled by the doors.

They slid open and Teyla's heart broke even as she raised her weapon, training it on a man who was her friend.

John twitched, lifting his head out of the gaping stomach wound, tearing out more flesh as he pulled his last bite out with the movement. He screeched around the gore hanging from lips, moving into a crouch so that he could pounce on the newest threats.

Ronon did not wait for John to attack. Red slammed into John, forcing the colonel backwards even as it rendered him unconscious. Evan surged past, checking John's pulse before binding his hands behind his back. He radioed the teams blocking the hallway, letting them know that John was secure and that they needed Carson, all while carefully avoiding looking at the form John had been feasting upon.

Teyla looked, though, and it made her heartsick. The male was a child, certainly younger than Aiden. Living in the Pegasus galaxy had taught Teyla that death did not avoid children, but it always touched something inside of her when it happened. Though she had faith in the Lantians and the technology of the Ancestors Teyla was uncertain if it would be able to help in this case.

The boy's shoulder was injured, blood leaking from a series of deep puncture wounds. Bruises adorned the boy's face and throat, attesting to head injuries and strangulation. But worst was the boy's stomach.

It had been shredded, the organs minced or removed. The missing flesh was strewn about the floor in unrecognizable pieces or was hanging from the unconscious colonel's mouth in thick ribbons.

Teyla knelt down by the figure, selfishly glad that he had ceased his cries. She grasped the boy's hand, hoping to comfort him as he passed. "You did well," she whispered, hoping her words would bring him some kind of piece.

The boy's grip tightened around hers and he tilted his head to give hear a pain filled glaze. "D-d-dean," he gasped out.

"Someone's on the way to get you brother," Ronon promised, and Teyla looked up, surprised the runner knew the dying child. She did not ask, though. It was not a tale for now, perhaps not a tale to ever be shared.

The kid's head rocked back and forth. "Easy," Teyla whispered, bringing her other hand to stroke his hair in an attempt to calm him. Ronon grasped the boy's shoulder, a gesture that was positively intimate coming from the Runner.

"Nooo," moaned the boy. "T-t-tell him. N-not his fault-t. N-n-not. Sh-sh-shep. J-john's. Sssick. T-tell him?"

Ronon nodded solemnly. "Will do."

The boy gave a bloody smile, dimples forming on his face as he managed to look genuinely happy. "T-thanks." The boy gave a soft sigh and his grip on Teyla's hands loosened. She did not let go, though, watching as the boy's chest rose slowly.

Teyla timed her breath to match his, a personal ritual she had started as a little girl as a way to connect to the dying. Beside her Ronon kept his grip on the boy's shoulder, occasionally brushing the boy's blood matted hair out of his face as they waited for the medical team to arrive.

For once Teyla regretted the lack of Rodney's incessant complaints. They would have filled the silence of the wait nicely, or perhaps even spurred people to quicker action. As it was Teyla knew they had come as quick as they could and even if they had arrived with her they still would have been too late to save the youth.

Medical personnel swarmed around, moving with an efficiency that had always amazed Teyla. She looked up to see them load and secure John onto a gurney with thick dark straps, Carson sliding a needle under his skin before the nurses wheeled him into the transporter.

When the doors slid shut and John was out of slight Carson turned his eyes to the boy Ronon and Teyla crouched beside, his face pale.

"Oh Sam," he whispered mournfully, joining Teyla on the floor as he inspected the damage inflicted.

"Can you do anything?" Ronon asked, his voice flat and even. It was only the quick glance up that would allow those who knew the man to recognize that he was upset.

Carson shook his head. "We can make him comfortable in the infirmary." Something in the doctor's tone revealed that he did not believe the child would survive the trip. Teyla lowered her head and gave the limp hand a gentle squeeze.

She would walk with him, if that were to be the case.

X_X_X_X_X

**Confusion Clear Ups.**

Ciao-yes, that's a pun. I apologize for NOTHING.

Eric Brady Guess who was in a Soap Opera? If you guessed Jared you are SO wrong. :P

IDC Iris Deactivation Code which is emitted by the GDO (garage door opener). It's why the home team doesn't splat against the Iris.

Yellow eyes+ Daddy?- Supernatural Season 1 finale. Awesome episode.

How to dislocate someone's arms- strangely enough when I googled this I found videos of people trying to dislocate their own arms so they could later do joint popping party tricks…

Aiden Ford- Sheppard's 2IC season 1. I think he was 23.

Action Scenes- I hate writing them so I have no idea how this one grew to be so freaking long.


	8. Wake Up Little Suzie

AN- Last Chapter, which commemorates the first time I've ever finished a long fic. Woot woot, people!

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**Puddle Jumping**

Chapter 8

Wake up Little Suzie

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Elizabeth was certain Jack was going to fire her.

Though the events that had transpired were only her fault by the reasoning that as the leader of the expedition she was responsible for the well being of her people, it did not negate that she was still responsible. She _felt_ responsible. It was her decisions that had allowed John to get loose, her reasoning that had had the boys in a more isolated sector of city. It was her oversight that allowed the boys to be both unguarded and unarmed. She had failed John, Dean, Jack, and Sam.

Especially Sam.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, the conversation with Carson echoing in her mind.

"_We're in the most technologically advanced city in the galaxy. Can't you do something?" _

_Carson had leaned back in his chair, his eyes sad. "We can ease his pain as he goes."_

"_Carson," Elizabeth had pleaded, knowing it was unfair to the man but she was desperate for a solution, even if were just a one-in-a-million shot. _

_Carson sighed and Elizabeth recognized it as Rodney's 'I'm going to use little words because you just don't get it' sigh. The pair had been spending more time together than Elizabeth realized. "Elizabeth, Sam was disemboweled. The majority of the boy's organs were destroyed and removed. He currently has no liver, no spleen, and no stomach. He has perhaps a third of a kidney left. His gall bladder and intestines were both perforated, which means that even_ if_ the rest of him were intact he'd still be at severe risk for sepsis and __peritonitis__. The only reason he's still breathing is that diaphragm wasn't punctured. We don't have the ability to clone the organs needed. There's nothing _to_ do." He shook his head. "I'm frankly surprised he's still alive."_

_Elizabeth closed her eyes. "Dean?" _

_Carson leaned forward, pulling out the scotch Elizabeth had seen him share with Rodney on occasion and two shot glasses. He began to pour as he listed off the injuries. "Three broken ribs, two dislocated shoulders but no torn ligaments, and minor throat swelling but not enough to ventilate. He'll heal with rest." He handed Elizabeth a glass. "As for the colonel, he'll be right as rain in no time. His DNA is already mutating back and the puncture wound in his shoulder closed as soon as we removed the fork."_

"_Right," Elizabeth stared at the dark liquid. "Until he realizes what he did."_

_Carson's response was to shoot back his alcohol. _

Since then Elizabeth had been hiding in her office. She knew it was cowardly of her, but she just couldn't stand being in the infirmary, surrounded by the people she'd failed. Not yet.

She stared at the letter Jack had sent her, the one telling her to watch out for the boys because they were _special. _It didn't mention how, but it clearly outlined to listen when Sam asked for things, no matter how strange they would be. How was she supposed to write in a report that the only thing he had ever asked of her was to be close to his brother? That that was the only thing he'd ever be able to ask?

Jack was going to fire her and she couldn't help but agree with that decision.

x—x-x—x

"Dr. McKay?"

Rodney had been going… somewhere. He knew that. Knew he should keep walking. But the sight of John all blue and scaly and restrained had taken him by surprise.

"Dr. McKay?"

Oh, on an intellectual level he'd known. The colonel's condition had been explained to him time and time again, but knowing what was going on and seeing the evidence that a bright man had been reduced to a killer insect in a matter of days were completely different things.

"Dr. McKay!" A hand on Rodney's shoulder made him start and he found himself staring into the owlish glasses of Dr. … Kniveness? "Dr. McKay, you can't loiter here."

That spurred Rodney into action. "Loiter? _Loiter?_" Rodney sputtered with unfeigned rage. "I'm the Chief of Science! I don't _loiter_! I don't have time to _loiter_," Rodney practically spat the word. "Where I am is where I'm supposed to be, doing my work which I'm not going to bother to explain to you because there is no way that your inferior intellect could even begin to grasp the magnitude of what I do!"

Dr. Nervous rolled his chocolate eyes. "As it stands, you still can't be in here. The infirmary has been declared closed to all unnecessary personnel. Visiting hours are restricted until further notice by Dr. Beckett's orders. " Rodney narrowed his eyes, seeing Teyla sitting by John and spotting Ronon sitting on the end of a bed that was hidden by curtains. Dr. Navel caught Rodney's glance. "They're working security." Translation: I've told them to leave and they told me they'd sooner tear my arms off and beat me to death with them.

"And I'm a patient!" Rodney declared loudly.

Dr. Nay scrutinized McKay, his eyes searching for a problem. "You look fine," he stated sharply.

"I _look _fine?" Rodney scoffed. "What school of witchcraft did you get your degree from? Or did the elders grant it to you for dancing naked under the moon? I've met geese that are better qualified to make medical diagnoses than you! Now you will find me a real voodoo doctor so I can get some medical attention before I keel over dead from dealing with your vapid idiocy. Where's Carson? Carson!" Rodney called, huffing.

Dr. Neanderthal opened his mouth to no doubt say something stupid but Teyla rose from where she had been guarding John to cut the man off. She placed a hand on the doctor's arm and through whatever magic, whether it was Wraith DNA or the power of women, she caused the quack's mouth to snap shut. "Dr. Nieves, perhaps it would be wisest for you to fetch Carson," Teyla murmured softly. The idiot gave a sharp nod before wondering off.

Teyla turned her doey eyes on Rodney, studying his red face. "Come Rodney. I do not believe Carson would mind if you were sitting when he came." Teyla grabbed his hand, dragging him to the open bed on John's one side. When he had himself situated she moved back to her post on the other side, placing herself between John and a pale youth whose arms were practically tied to his chest. Before Rodney could ask what happened to the kid, ask if that was something John did, Carson appeared.

"All right Rodney," Carson ran a hand over his pale face. "What did you do this time?"

Rodney's eyes widened. "What did I do?" he cried indignantly. "I just swallowed a bunch of alien dirt. It's what you did that's the issue here!"

Carson glowered his accent thicker with fatigue. "Rodney, I dinnae have time to play games with you. If this is about the soil you can leave. You've already been cleared for that."

Rodney hunched over in a sulk. "I think you cracked my ribs when you landed on me."

Carson's face pinched. He ordered Rodney out of his shirt, helping the scientist when the man admitted that he couldn't lift his arms that high and sighing when he saw the dark mottling across the Canadian's chest. His fingers prodded along the bone, coping with Rodney's harsh snapping whenever he found a particularly sensitive spot.

When he was finished Carson shook his head. "I dinnae know why you didna come see me sooner."

Rodney shrugged and winced as the action tugged at his chest. It wasn't like he knew he'd need an excuse to be in the infirmary to watch over John. After all, wandering around with fractured ribs just to get admittance here would have been stupid; clever, sneaky and brilliant, but still stupid.

Carson shook his head, moving off to look for an Ancient scanner. While it wouldn't fix the bones immediately it would reduce the healing time from a matter of months to a few weeks. Rodney sat quietly, absorbing John's presence while steadfastly ignoring the strange coloring, knowing it would be gone in a matter of time and his John would be back with a rakish smirk and a sarcastic drawl.

The stillness of the infirmary was broken when the young man on the other side of John stirred.

"Sammy?" Rodney winced at the gravel scraped voice.

Teyla stood, leaning over the man. "Sh, Dean," she murmured in his ear. "You are safe now."

The man opened his eyes, blinking dumbly. "Where's Sammy?" He turned his head, facing the curtain that Ronon was tucked behind. "No," he muttered. "No, no, no," he began to chant with growing fervor. He began to twist, trying to get enough momentum to roll himself over.

Teyla pushed down, trying to prevent Dean's escape as she whispered soothing things. Instead of calming the man it seemed to intensify his struggles. Rodney watched as he jerked one arm from the brace, using it to knock Teyla back against John's bed. Dean twisted himself out of the bed, staggering across the floor towards the curtain where he was intercepted by Ronon as the large alien wrapped his arms around the boy.

"No!" The man yelled. "Let me go or I'll gut you!" Ronon just grunted, pulling back and lifting Dean's feet clear the floor. Dean tried to twist but failed miserably as his traction was removed. "Sammy needs me," the man pleaded, his broken tone at odds with his frenzied struggles.

Ronon didn't even flinch. "He said it wasn't your fault."

Dean stilled in his arms. "No." Dean went boneless and tears began to stream down his face. He took in several jagged breathes before letting out a piercing scream.

Rodney covered his ears as the scream reverberated through him. A mechanical whine cut through his hands and drilled deep into his brain as the lights in the infirmary flared into blinding brightness, like a nuclear flash. The sound seemed to go and on, as though it was trying to strip Rodney's flesh from his very bones.

When it finally ended Rodney looked up to see Carson and Ronon lowering an unconscious Dean to the floor as Beckett carefully withdrew a needle from the man's neck.

Ronon lifted the man bridal style, setting him back in the bed as medical personnel swarmed to re-brace his Dean's arms and attach him to an IV, no doubt to try and keep him calm when he awoke.

As Rodney looked around numbly, taking in the now dulled lights, he couldn't help but taste crow. It looked as though Zelenka hadn't been lying about the strength of the city's newest gene user.

x—x-x—x

Ronon sat by Sam, listening to the laboured breaths as the kid clung to life with the determination of a Satedan.

He should have been dead by now.

Everyone knew he should have been dead by now. Beckett was surprised enough that he'd begun to do tests on the blood that still seemed to be leaking from the gaping stomach wound, the one that had been covered by material to hide it from the rest of the world. The blood had been wiped from his face and washed from his hair, and pressure bandage had been fixed over the wound in the shoulder.

That bothered Ronon. It was typical of the Lantians to try and hide the sacrifices of their people but the Satedans had always displayed them by the victory, reminding the people just how precious it was. Then again, the Lantians didn't know about Sam or what he could do. They were ignorant to the blessing the Ancestors had dropped in their lap and because of it Sam's life had been exchanged for John's.

Ronon didn't know if it was an even trade or not.

He frowned as he heard a commotion kick up. Ronon turned away from Sam to search for the source of the noise and he found himself hoping that Dean was still unconscious. The man was strong but Ronon doubted his ability to watch his brother die and remain intact. Even then it was unlikely that Dean would ever be the man that Ronon had shared a beer with. Ronon had met enough womb pairs on Sateda to know that one could rarely carry on without the other.

But instead of Dean fighting his way to freedom Carson came, followed by a herd of his people. The doctor's movements were as sharp and determined as a soldiers and he barked out orders like a general.

"Maria, get a saline solution set up. Anderson, I need three pints of O negative." Carson didn't look to see if he was being obeyed as he snapped on his white gloves. Instead he marched over to Sam's still form, pulling off the blanket to expose the boy's shoulder. He tore open a tiny packet, fishing out a wet white cloth that he wiped across the wound, his fingers prodding the skin as the followed the trail. The doctor's shoulders melted into a position of ease and he leaned back with a relieved chuckle. Ronon craned his neck, trying to see what Carson saw.

Where the skin had once been angry and torn it was now tanned and whole.

"Doc?" Ronon asked, suspicious of the apparent medical miracle.

Carson smiled at Ronon as he finished cleaning the shoulder, tossing the stained bandage into the nearest trash as his ice blue eyes shone with delight. "John bit the lad," Carson practically sung with joy. Ronon's face remained blank. Carson's smile grew wider. "Ellia fed on John, which means she injected enzymes into his system. The enzymes carried the retrovirus into John's system where it began to alter his tissues, which caused the wound to regenerate." Carson ruffled Sam's hair, as though congratulating the boy on a job well done. "Human saliva contains various enzymes that begin the digestive process. When John fed on the lad he filled the wound with those enzymes, infecting Sam with the retrovirus."

Ronon gave Sam another glance, looking for blue tinges to the skin but finding none. "It'll be enough to heal him?" Ronon asked doubtfully. John had just had a scrape to the arm. Sam had been eviscerated.

"It should, if we let the virus run its course." Carson pulled down the blanket farther and began to pry at the gauze that hid the stomach wound. "Of course we'll help him along. Dr. Osterhagen is fetching antibiotics to stave off sepsis and Dr. Anderson is getting a bit of spare blood. Hopefully it will be enough to help the boy hold on. Oi," Carson exclaimed in wonder as he looked at the wound. "That's amazing," the doctor whispered.

"Are we going to need more eggs?" Ronon wasn't averse to fetching more, but Rodney was going to have to make more of Dean's super soakers if it was going to work.

"No," Carson muttered, still distracted as he prodded the wound. "We have enough to whip up a second batch to cure Sam."

Ronon stared at Sam as the boy drew another breath. He wanted to laugh or to shoot something. These Lantians were strange and bumbling, taking their most precious gifts for granted yet elevated the mundane of their world. But here Ronon was, sitting with them and letting himself be filled over and over with a feeling that had thought died on Sateda. What was worst of all was that he couldn't even resent the Lantians for the ease and the ignorance they had because if it weren't for that they wouldn't be sharing their most precious gifts with the galaxy.

No, Ronon couldn't resent them for the hope they had as they shared it with him freely, offering a little bit of fairness in a cruel existence, so he settled for standing guard as a corpse continued to live despite all odds and the world moved forward once again.

x—x-x—x

Physically, the second time Dean woke up in the Atlantis infirmary was very similar to the first. His throat was raw and hoarse, as though he'd been garbling broken glance and vinegar, and his arms were bound tightly against his chest, fire burning deep in his shoulder joints. His chest hurt, the familiar ache of broken bones and bruises that made him aware of every breath. Just as happened last time a woman appeared in his vision, her dark chestnut hair serving as a curtain as she leaned over him and tried to whisper comforting things.

Unlike last time there was no surprise that he had survived and no pounding fear as he looked for Sammy. Dean knew where his brother was. He could feel him off to the side, behind the damn curtain that had still been left up. It was the only thing Dean _could_ feel through the pervading numbness.

Sammy was dying. Dean had failed again and after everything they had gone through to keep him safe Sammy was dying. The words Ronon had spoken in his ear were the familiar goodbye that Sam always left behind, tinged with his brother's self righteous 'I was doing what's best.' Once again Sammy hadn't understood that leaving Dean was never the right choice.

The woman's dark hand was on Dean's face wiping away his tears and he hated her. He hated her for preventing him from seeing Sammy, for seeing his grief, for trying to soothe it.

"Dean," she spoke his name as though he was a damaged child and he wanted to scream at her. He had never truly been a child. Not since Mary burst into flames after a demon baptized his brother in blood.

The woman pushed a glass against his lips. Dean turned his head. "Dean, you must drink," she ordered, but Dean hadn't been a mindless soldier ready to obey since Heaven betrayed him.

"He awake?" The question was from Ronon, who ducked though the curtain, giving Dean a brief glimpse of white blankets and shaggy hair.

"He does not seem to be aware," the woman confessed, as though it was her fault that Sammy was dying. "I cannot get him to drink."

Ronon grunted and Dean felt a little water splash onto his face as the cup changed hands. He didn't blink, trying to stare through the curtain for one more look at his brother.

A firm hand grabbed his face, twisting it so that he was staring up at Ronon. "Dean."

Dean blinked and shifted his eyes, trying to see the curtain.

Ronon gave his face a little shake, forcing Dean to look at the giant. "Drink." The cup pressed against Dean's lips and tipped, water dribbling over Dean's closed lips to trickle down his face. Ronon growled a little, but it didn't scare Dean. How could it? It's not like he had anything to lose.

Dean shifted his eyes again to stare at the curtain that hid Sammy.

"You drink this cup and I'll move you to sit by him."

Dean's eyes flicked up. "Promise?" he rasped.

The alien nodded his head. "Ronon!" The woman scolded. "Dr. Beckett said that Dean could not be moved."

Ronon ignored her a tipped the cup. Dean opened his mouth and allowed the cool fluid to coat his throat and ease his pain. He swallowed rhythmically as Ronon continued to tilt the glass, draining the water into Dean.

The moment the last drop was gone Dean shifted, trying to sit up. Ronon pushed him down and Dean growled at the man. He moved to sit up again, and again Ronon pushed him down gently. Dean glared up but quit moving, determined to take a chunk of Ronon's hand out with his teeth if it came close enough.

It didn't. Instead of bringing and arm near Dean's face Ronon hooked one under his knees while pushing the other one under his back. Dean's panic must have shown because Ronon smirked. "I told you that I'd move you." Then he lifted and all Dean could do was curse as his body exploded into pain.

Dean gasped as he was dropped into a chair. Not that Ronon dropped him hard, but, hey, cracked ribs.

Dean took one look at his baby brother and all the pain faded into the background as Sammy's chest rose and fell in a slow even rhythm. That motion made it easy to ignore the hoses that sunk into Sammy's arms, pumping fluids in and out of his brother's body. Dean ignored the steady hum of the machine that seemed to be sucking up Sam's blood only to give back to him cold. Instead he focused on Sammy, on how his stupid long hair was still in his eyes even though the hazel color was hidden by translucent lids. His brother's face was chalky and sunken, under his eyes dark as they got when Sammy was stressed or sick. Sammy was such a girl when he was sick, always whining and cuddling.

Dean shifted, trying to grab one of Sammy's pale hands, and cursed again as the fucking braces prevented him from giving his little brother physical comfort.

"Here." Dean looked up as Ronon drew a knife and sliced through the material binding an arm, giving Dean enough freedom to grasp at Sam. Under Dean's fingers Sam's pulse beat steadily, if a bit weakly, as Sam continued to take in and release air. Dean couldn't see where Sammy was hurt and knew that the blanket could be hiding all sorts of horrors. Dean didn't look. He couldn't stand to know why. At that moment it didn't matter. All that matter was Sammy's hand in his, two brothers together for now and for forever.

Ronon set his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Doc thinks he'll make it."

Dean closed his eyes, unashamed of the two tears the dripped from beneath his lashes. "Yeah?" he asked hoarsely, his voice choked with emotion.

"Yeah," Ronon nodded. "John got him sick and that's healing him. When he's fixed himself Beckett'll cure him and he'll be on his feet in no time." He gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze and Dean took comfort through the haze of pain it brought. "Call if you need anything. I'll be by John."

Dean didn't nod or even acknowledge Ronon's last statement. Sammy was tough. He was going to get better, going to be bitching about Dean's socks all over the room even as he tossed them into a basket to be washed. Sammy was going to be okay.

How could Dean possibly need anything else?

x—x-x—x

He was floating.

That was the first thing he realized. He was floating on his back and he didn't remember why. There couldn't have been too many reasons. He wasn't twisted or hanging, which meant that he hadn't just fallen asleep in the tub, which was unfortunate because that would have been a nice neat explanation. He wasn't cold or in pain, so it wasn't likely that he'd sunk his boat. Well, Dad's boat. Of course he hadn't sunk Dad's boat. He hadn't been on the thing since before his father cut off contact.

Oh. Surfing. That made sense. He'd wiped out while surfing and was floating in the ocean under the California sun.

Proud he'd figured it out he let himself slip back into the darkness.

The next time he came back it wasn't to physical sensation. It was to the incessant berating of McKay. He frowned, hoping it wasn't directed at him. It was funny when it happened to other people but he didn't like when McKay yelled at him. He laughed and then McKay got sulky and said no coffee, and more recently, no sex. John liked having sex. He really liked having sex with Rodney.

John drifted away from McKay's voice, letting himself slide back down into himself where it was warm and safe.

The third time John surfaced he did so with a jolt. His eyes flew open and he found himself staring at the ceiling of Atlantis. He darted around, trying to place the room he was in. He spotted Rodney lying on the bed next to him, curled up around his laptop the way a child cradles a teddy bear. To the other side was another bed and beyond that a drawn curtain.

It was the infirmary. John should be dead and he was in the infirmary.

"John?" He looked down towards the foot of his bed, spotting Elizabeth as she stood up.

"Did I hurt anyone?" He hated himself for asking that question, for wanting her to deny what he already knew to be true.

Elizabeth moved closer, setting a hand on his chest. "Nothing that won't heal."

John closed his eyes and for a second all he could see was a kid begging for his life as John tore into his guts with his bare hand. "Don't lie." He swallowed down bile as screams echoed in his ears. "Not about this."

"John." Her voice went soft. It was something all the women of the world seemed to do to him when they thought he was about to break.

"I remember, Elizabeth." He looked towards Rodney, his heart tight as he realized that he could have just as easily killed him. "What was his name?"

"His name _is_ Sam," she placed emphasis on the present tense, "And he's currently doing better than you."

"I tore out his insides. I highly doubt he's okay after that."

Elizabeth huffed the way she did when she was annoyed at how frustratingly stubborn McKay could be. "Give me a minute. I'll be right back." John turned back to her, watching the red of her uniform slip behind the curtain. A hushed conversation took place, leaving John on the fringes as he fought to hear the words.

Elizabeth came back into view as she tugged on the curtain, pulling it back to reveal the bed.

On a plastic chair wearing two braces, though only one of them properly, was a young man with piercing green eyes. _Dean_. The name floated across John's mind as he hazily recalled meeting the kid with one of the marines. Possibly Stackhouse? But there was more. John swallowed hard, trying to prevent himself from retching as his mind whispered in broken pieces. Dean charging him. Dean flying down the hallway. Dean screaming as John purposely tore his arms loose from their sockets.

John flinched when Dean's gaze met his, but instead of anger or hatred there was a strange look of understanding. John wasn't sure what to make of it, so he averted his eyes, moving to look at the figure on the bed.

John's breath caught in his chest.

Sitting on the bed was the hazel-eyed youth John remembered killing. The boy looked up from his makeshift table and gave John a soft smile and a little wave, as though they were old friends.

Dean poked Sam and muttered softly, jabbing the paper in Sam's lap with finger. Sam rolled his eyes before making a quick mark, which was followed by a smile as Sam made another scratch before drawing a line.

"No fair, dude!" Dean exclaimed loudly, leaning in closer to study the paper. "You totally cheated!"

Sam frowned. "Dude, you picked all your own moves."

John watched the scene with wonder as the two kids squabbled.

"No. I told you where I wanted to go. You're the one who drew them in the wrong spot."

Sam jutted out his chin. "I did not. You just suck."

"Bite me, bitch."

Sam reached over and slapped Dean across the head. "Language!" He tilted his head towards Elizabeth meaningfully.

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Dude, she works on a base full of marines. I bet she's heard worse. I bet she's _said_ worse."

"Not the point, Dean."

"In fact," Dean's voice grew louder to drown out his brother, "I wouldn't be surprised if she's called someone a fucking cu-"

Sam slapped a hand over Dean's mouth. "Sorry," he apologized to Elizabeth. "Most days he gets his age confused with his shoe size."

Elizabeth gave a silvery laugh before turning back to John, her smile promising him that everything was all right. John gave her a shaky smile back.

x—x-x—x

Elizabeth was sifting through potential missions trying to best determine which teams to send when she heard a knock on her office door. She looked up to see Carson standing outside with a harried air surrounding the usually calm doctor. She cleared her tablet and set it to the side before waving the man in.

"Carson, what can I do for you?" She asked with a smile.

The doctor did not return it nor did he sit when she offered him a chair.

"Elizabeth," Carson started primly, "Am I or am I not the Chief Medical Officer of Atlantis?"

Elizabeth gave him a sideways glance. "You are," she responded hesitantly, unsure of where this was going.

"And as Chief Medical Officer are people required to obey the decisions I make in regards to their health?"

"They are," Elizabeth responded with the same hesitancy, noting how a vein was beginning to bulge on Beckett's forehead.

"Then I am requesting a security team."

Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, puzzled. "Carson, what exactly is this about?"

"This?" Carson waved a hand around her office. "Oh, this is just about tracking down four of my patients who decided that they happen to know more about their health than there own doctor. Never mind that they've only had a fortnight to recover when they need twice that. Oh no. They're all perfectly fine to go gallivanting wherever they please with broken ribs and Iratus DNA. Never mind that young Samuel is the first person I've heard of to survive being disemboweled. They're fine to wander off and go do whatever they want!" Carson's face crimson by the time he finished his tirade and the vein was beginning to look like it had a life of its own.

Elizabeth bit back a smile, amused more at the doctor's response than she was by the antics of his patients. "Have you tried reaching them on their coms?"

Carson gave Elizabeth a flat look. "John and Rodney's are disabled and the Winchesters hae nae been assigned any. And before ye ask, yes I tried to track 'em using the city life sign detectors but Rodney went and messed with the system. Dr. Zelenka cannae use it to track individuals and he cannae seem to bypass Rodney's work."

"I'll give you Ronon to go find them."

Carson shook his head vehemently. "He's a fellow conspirator. He provided the distraction for them to escape."

Elizabeth was surprised. "He helped John and Rodney?"

"No," Carson growled. "John and Rodney just ran like they always do. He helped the Winchesters."

x—x-x—x

John sighed as he took in the scene on the deck. The Winchesters were sitting side-by-side, legs dangling off the pier as they watched the sunset. But it was the figure behind them that plucked at John's annoyance. "So that's where my beer's disappearing to."

"Yup." Ronon continued to haul up the net unabashedly.

Beside John Rodney squawked. "You have a stash of beer and you never told me about it?" Rodney had the offended look down pat.

John stared at Rodney. "Where do you keep your coffee beans?"

Rodney flushed at looked down, muttering something about exceptions and ambrosia of the intellectual pantheon. John smiled in exasperation and walked to the Winchesters, wordlessly taking a seat. Rodney whined about catching pneumonia as he scrambled down beside John, settling himself to watching the sinking sun. Ronon took his seat on the far side of the boys, seating himself by Sam as he began to pass the beer down the line.

John passed one down to Rodney before cracking his own and drinking deep, enjoying the bitter liquid as it warmed his guts.

Other than the rustle of clothes and the sound of the waves the pier remained silent and uncomfortably so. Rodney kept opening his mouth to say something before closing it again with a snap as though having thought better of it. Ronon was his usually stoic self, staring off in the pose of a warrior at rest. Dean and Sam kept shifting, occasionally looking at one another and smirking but not saying a thing.

It wasn't until the sun was halfway gone and John had finished his fourth beer that he dared speak. "So, about the whole trying to kill you thing-"

Dean cut him off with a snort. "Seriously, dude?"

John frowned, unsure of where he went wrong. "What?" he asked defensively.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "We're drinking beer and you want to have a chick flick moment? Now? Dude, uncool."

"Chick flick?" Rodney asked, curious about the term.

"Talking about feelings and weeping over each other about shit that was beyond your control. Chick. Flick." Dean wrinkled his nose as he infused the words with disdain.

"I'm not asking you to do my nails," John groused. "I'm apologizing for trying to kill you. Besides, are you even old enough to drink?"

The elder Winchester ignored the question. "While you were a bug. Out of your control. Therefore chick flick." Dean spoke with finality.

"Though Dean is a great manicurist," Sam chimed in with a devious tone. "He doesn't like to admit it but he's really mastered the art of nail painting."

"Sammy," Dean grated, clearly not amused. "Shut up."

Sam held up a hand defensively. "I'm telling them what Brittney told me. I can't believe she made you paint your toenails before having sex."

"Sammy, your beer empty?"

Sam frowned in confusion, obviously a little drunk. Not that John was surprised with the number of cans stacked on the deck. "Yeah. Why? Gonna get me another?"

Dean grinned. "Not quite." He leaned back and shoved a palm into Sam's spine, sending the youngster into the water. Sam flailed in the air, hooking a hand on his brother's leg as he descended. "Shi-" Dean cursed before disappearing into the waves with his brother.

John frowned at the ocean. "Should they be swimming after drinking?"

Rodney shook his head. "Nah. That's eating."

"Oh."

Sam's head emerged, thick dark hair plastered to his face. Dean was right behind him. "You're such a jerk, Dean," he sputtered in the water, splashing at his brother.

"Shut up, bitch!" Dean splashed back and John smiled. It sounded like an old exchange.

"Can you swim?" Ronon asked curiously as he stood, beginning to stretch out his long limbs.

Rodney sniffed disdainfully. "I was a Fort McMurray Eager Beaver."

John shrugged. "My dad owns a boat."

"So that's a yes?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's a yes." McKay frowned in afterthought. "Why?"

Ronon took a few steps, shaking out his legs until he stood behind John and Rodney. "Cause I wanted to do this." He placed a hand on both their shoulders and John was already being pulled down as the Satedan jumped, dragging the Lantians with him into the ocean.

Rodney emerged with an angry sputter. "Are you crazy? Do you even know what lives down here? What if we're eaten by a whale?"

"Well," Dean's voice came in from somewhere over John's left, "then there is only one thing to do."

Rodney sputtered more water as he treaded. "Get out?"

"Pft, no!" Dean sounded as though Rodney had asked for a manicure.

"We get him!" Sam's voice came from in front as the Winchester popped out of the ocean right behind Ronon, pushing the Satedan's head under.

It broke out into a water brawl with everyone versus Ronon. They had a hope of winning until Sam changed sides, the traitor, and dunked John. By the time they dragged themselves onto the deck the water was lit by the lights of Atlantis and by stars. They all flopped onto the metal, laughing as the adrenaline and beer wore off and the chill from the night air set in.

"Oh crap," Rodney moaned. "Beckett's going to kill us."

"Worth it," Dean responded immediately. Sam let out a content sigh to voice his agreement.

John just rolled onto his back, looking at the stars that watched over his city. He fully realized that Beckett was going to kill them when he found out about his, but he agreed with Dean.

It was totally worth it.

X_X_X_X_X_X

Confusion Clear Ups

Title-Lyrics from Wake Up Little Suzie by the Everlet Brothers

Sepsis-blood infection. When caused by waste from the intestines can be fatal within minutes.

Peritonitis-basically the swelling of everything.

Nieves-pronounced NYAY-vess

Funky Machine Sam was attached to- Dialysis. Basically mechanical kidneys used to clean the blood.

Caron's accent gets thicker when he's upset because I say so. Here's the interpretation guide.

Dinnae- Do not

Didna- Did not

Hae-Have

Nae-Not

Cannae- cannot

Fort Mac Eager Beaver-True to canon, believe it or not, which means Rodney lived in Alberta for part of his childhood.

Final Words-So thanks for sticking with me through this. It's been fun and a really positive experience. Keep an eye out for the sequel! It will be up soon. Ish. (You know me.)

So thanks everyone! Hope to see you again soon!


	9. Sequel Alert

Sequel Alert- Puddle Jumping picks up in Faustian Hopscotch, which is now up. Heads up to those who have alerted this story. Hope to see you there!


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